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The menu that hangs off a folder is a menu read mid-scan, with the eye still moving down the column, and it was drawn to the measure of a page rather than of a list: a box wide enough to be a destination, type the size of a heading. A catalogue's own context menu is a thing passed over on the way somewhere else — it is sized to its words and to the row it hangs off, and the reader's eye steps across it without stopping. The type comes down a point, the rows tighten to the tree's own measure, and the frame around them thickens to a radius the rows themselves use. The clamp that keeps it in the window follows the smaller box, so a menu opened near the right or the bottom edge no longer floats an inch off the pointer for room it does not use. A row that is being read has exactly one thing to be asked of it — that it stop — where a row at rest has the reading that brings it up to date. The menu said RESCAN either way, greyed while a scan was up, which is a command offered and refused in the same breath. The two never both apply, so the menu now carries the one the row is actually in: a roll being read offers STOP SCAN and stops that roll; a roll at rest offers UPDATE... and reads it again. A row with folders under it grows a third thing — a fold that closes the branch and not merely the row, because a reader who is done with a tree means the whole of it shut, and closing only the row they happened to point at leaves the children standing open underneath it. The last is a matter of what a row is allowed to claim. Every row of a roll spanning the tree spun while that roll was being read, so a reader looking at a tree of a hundred folders saw a hundred rows each insisting it was the one being read, when the reading had been pointed at one of them. A row now says it is being read only when it is the row the reading was kept to — the folder it was pointed at, which for a whole roll is the roll's own row. A tree that says all of itself is busy when one branch of it is says nothing a reader can trust.