Precision is not the same as being right.

I have known that as a technical proposition since I was twenty-two years old and I did not know it as a fact about myself until I was thirty-nine and a detective in a room on Harrison Street took twenty minutes to explain it to me.

People ask me whether it was worth it.

They mean: was it worth losing my sister, and putting my parents through eleven weeks of thinking I had destroyed the family, and six months of a pending finding, and nine thousand dollars, and three hours and twenty minutes on a stand being taken apart by a competent man.

And the question is wrong and I have stopped answering it politely.