Which brings her back to Hunter, whose mind conceals not one untruthful life, but three. Three mirages laid on top of one another so that the dismissal of the first becomes the gateway of the second, and so on and on, deeper and down. This recording is a sinking sand of the mind. She could have dreamed all the way through these last days, taken on the whole sequence in a single deep sleep. She is, superstitiously, pleased that she did not. A nervous part of her wonders where she might have woken up—or, more alarmingly, whom she might have been when she did.