“It’s a reference,” he said, snotty. “It’s from The Time Machine. H. G. Wells.” I stepped closer to him. “What does it mean?” I asked. “Because I’m sick of —” “Read it.” “I’m sick of being told I’m stupid.” “So read it, and you’ll know.” “Tell me.” “Read it.” “Tell me.” “You can look it up.” “You can tell me.” “Will you ever open your eyes?”
Never even bothers to use the limitless information
