Herodotus could not get his head beyond one point. “‘We’?”
“You sure are hung up on a pronoun, ain’cha? Mark Twain remarked that the only people entitled to speak in the first person plural were royalty, editors and people with tapeworms.”
“Are you telling me there’s more than one of you?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” she said, reaching out to ruffle his hair playfully. Then, in a passable Mae West impression, she added, “I’m all the god you’ll ever need, big boy.”
Herodotus wondered whether he should say anything at all. Polly was back in the mood to toy with him, and it was problematic whether he’d get any straight answers from her.
“It was actually pretty hectic, that first trillionth of a trillionth of a second after the Big Bang. Talk about your one-armed paper
