- Bob Dylan, All Along the Watchtower
Rosalind remembers her parents back in England. How could she forget?
Her mother, always clear in her memory, a visionary and a born suffragette. Adamant that intellectual pursuits are not less important for a woman, but on the contrary, more so.
You never know when knowledge will save your life.
Her father, more taciturn, less given to open displays of affection, but always there, a guardian. A man of his time, Rosalind always supposed.
She knows she herself is not what most people would consider a 'warm' person. Calculus and levelheadedness is her strength, too.
Interestingly, quite the opposite seems to have been the case with Robert. Always the visionary Robert, if a tad naïve.
And so, she supposes, in a sense it can be argued that they do not really share parentage. The respective gender of a child, what it inherits, can change its whole world.
The same goes for the colour of its skin.
How many changed variables does it take for you to stop being you, and being someone else instead?
Who would Daisy Fitzroy have been, the Luteces wonder in unison, had her skin been peach rather than chocolate? Had she been man rather than woman?
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