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You read, move your lips, figure out the words, and it’s like you’re in two places at the same time: you’re sitting or lying with your legs curled up, your hand groping in the bowl, but you can see different worlds, far-off worlds that maybe never existed but still seem real. You run or sail or race in a sleigh–you’re running away from someone, or you yourself have decided to attack–your heart thumps, life flies by, and it’s wondrous: you can live as many different lives as there are books to read.
