As Angel reaches out toward the page, a couple minor cuts on his hand from everyday farmwork light up with their own golden molten light, as if under the circumstances Jean can see what's being obscured by the dull, mundane body. The cuts don't heal, as they would at the temple or at Elsie's tree, but the light is brilliant and...you know how you can hear harmony in tones in music? The light within Angel and the light of the page do something similar, light worbling against light like ripples in the surface of water. They resonate.