Then, again: “I thought I dreamed that there was a mouse dead in my bread, and one day I cut open a loaf of bread, and a mouse was inside, and I couldn’t tell for a moment the difference between my dream and reality. Had I had this dream, or at the moment of finding the mouse had I invented this dream, making myself a prophet? Thought can travel through time, you see, memory reinvents itself, making the past something that always has been, now, in this second, now, for ever. You can’t ever really trust your own memory, your own mind. Reality, time, the past, it’s as fickle as a dream, when you
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