“You can see me?” asked the man, incredulous. Tristan supposed he might have been using a cloaking illusion, but was interrupted before he could ask. “Well, never mind, that’s obvious,” the man sighed, mostly to himself. He was not British; he was extremely American, in fact, albeit different from whatever sort of American that Libby happened to be. (Tristan wondered why she had come to mind, but dismissed it. Lately, she was always coming to mind.) “Obviously you can see me or you wouldn’t have said anything,” the man remarked amicably, “only I’ve never actually encountered another traveler
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