“You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow.
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