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Even then, I was dreaming of Raistlin’s black robes one moment, and Dorsett’s spin move the next. This was what my father deeded–that our Knowledge of Self be more than America, that we understand the brain death that sprawled from the projects to the subdivisions. Consciousness was a beginning, but the imagination could turn straight 18s into paladins in plate, could make warrens in tunnels from graph paper, could pull armies of gnolls from miniatures–that was the Knowledge that ultimately would find a way out.
