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           "Yes,I—"Shewaslookingatthetallfigurewiththesun-streakedhair,withthesuppressedsmileinthemercilesslyperceptiveeyes—shewasseeingthestruggletobuildherLineandthesummerdayofthefirsttrain’srun—shewasthinkingthatifahumanfigurecouldbefashionedasanemblemofthatLine,thiswasthefigure.

           "Yes...Idid..."Then,rememberingtherest,sheadded,"ButInameditafteranenemy."

           Hesmiled."That’sthecontradictionyouhadtoresolvesoonerorlater,MissTaggart."

           "Itwasyou...wasn’tit?...whodestroyedmyLine..."

           "Why,no.Itwasthecontradiction."

           Sheclosedhereyes;inamoment,sheasked,"AllthosestoriesIheardaboutyou—whichofthemweretrue?"

           "Allofthem."

           "Wasityouwhospreadthem?"

           "No.Whatfor?Ineverhadanywishtobetalkedabout."

           "Butyoudoknowthatyou’vebecomealegend?"

           "Yes."

           "TheyounginventoroftheTwentiethCenturyMotorCompanyistheonerealversionofthelegend,isn’tit?"

           "Theonethat’sconcretelyreal—yes."

           Shecouldnotsayitindifferently;therewasstillabreathlesstoneandthedropofhervoicetowardawhisper,whensheasked,"Themotor...themotorIfound...itwasyouwhomadeit?"

           "Yes.