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Perhaps he has it in him. He notices her, at least, and where and how she walks.

She sees so many people, walking, and portents cascade off her, and no one looks. She wants that, in this world, but she’s tired: she needs someone to teach, and that someone must be able to see her as she truly is.

Finally, one Monday she snaps her fingers and whispers, and two trolleys cross before her: a sure sign, an omen, to reveal her in her full glory at last.

She’s disappointed. He’s not the right one: Grimacing Woman is all he sees.