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The mark was pinned to the folder a reading was kept to, which is a fine thing to say and no use at all to look at: a reading kept to the roll is kept to the roll for the whole of an afternoon, so the one row that said anything said the same word from the first frame to the last while the walk went through every folder under it. The reader asking which folder is being read was told, in answer, which folder they had asked about. A reading is where it is, not where it was pointed, and where it is is a thing only the reading knows — so the walk now tells it. The frame in hand names the folder it sits in, and the progress carried to the screen says so with the rest, which is where the column reads it. The mark is a way down and not a single row: the folder being read says so, and so does every folder above it. That is what keeps a reading visible under a branch folded shut — the row doing the work is the row the fold takes away, and the rows above it are all a reader would have left. Two rows say the same thing and no more, which is the point: the eye follows the marks down to the work. The head of the tree is never one of them, and this is the rule that survives from the last reading of the question. A roll is the head of everything under it, and a head marked while one folder below it is read says the whole of the tree is being read — an answer that is both loud and false, and worse than the silence it replaced. So the mark stops one row short of the top. The one case left bare is a reading whose frames sit in the roll's own folder and nowhere else: there is no row between the work and the head, and a flat roll is a roll in which the toolbar's line, which names the count, is the whole of what there is to say.