'Her eyes held her until the whole reflection swam and faded but for the little universe of her iris. It had been this way sometimes as a little girl; she watched her face until it was neither her face nor another face, but Face, and she had said, neither quite believing it nor caring, "That is me. That is me." This is now, Millie thought, but her face faded around the fulcrum of her eyes, and she seemed to know everything that she was yet to learn; she seemed to see her life laid out in the foreknown pattern of a life, through which she must proceed, attached by the second-hand of days to the flyspeck of herself.'
from Descend Again by Janet Burroway (Chapter XVI)
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