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I cannot begin to reckon the number of times I have wished to have a different life, to be someone, anyone, but myself, especially in those dark days after I broke faith with Edgeworth. How could I know what the price of such a wish would be, that I would awaken in a body and a life and a time that is not my own, and that everyone I know would be lost to me, perhaps forever? Yet there is much about this future world of light and noise and confusion that is not disagreeable. Even my most fanciful imaginings of a different place and time could not possibly prepare me for a world in which four more novels by the author of Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility exist, a world in which wondrous machines act out those stories, play music, and even wash clothes. A world of unparalleled freedom and boundless possibility, a world where I can go anywhere, do anything. A prospect that is as exhilarating as it is terrifying.