On proper photographic paper, six by four, with a white border, which means that in the space of under fifty minutes a sixty-six-year-old woman received two pictures of her granddaughters, telephoned her son, and then went to a machine — in a pharmacy, as it turned out, which is four minutes from her house — and paid to have them printed so that she could lay them out on a bed and point at them.

She had also brought the cropped one, which she had had printed at some earlier point.

And she had brought a brown envelope to carry them in, rather than a handbag, so that they would not bend.

Whatever else is true about that woman, there is no version of those fifty minutes in which she was a grandmother who had been upset by a resemblance.

A person who is upset does not queue at a photograph machine.