Wit stared at him, instrument still in his lap. The man didn’t seem angry. “So you do know this story,” Wit said. “What? I thought you were making it up.” “No, you were.” “Then what is there to know?” Wit smiled. “All stories told have been told before. We tell them to ourselves, as did all men who ever were. And all men who ever will be. The only things new are the names.”
