New faces look through glass, forlorn features pressed against the panes figuring out where this all came from.
Long gone lineage, here in this hall, is now a pressed image collected by a flower picker’s hand, gloved to protect the rust and frozen within two sheets of glass far taller than any Yorkshire lass, here somewhere secret.
Old faces gaze at another frame filled with someone else’s misery, it’s pinned to another wall next to the menu for the restaurant down the hall, first left on the second right.
Short queues form under hanging light bulbs, it’s this month’s exhibition, the Pharaoh’s jewels, on display all the way from the splayed deserts of Egypt, but some given by a museum in Manchester so it looks like there is more than there is.