In Thornton Wilder's The Skin of Our Teeth, the fortuneteller unfurls her skirts, hoists her bodice, strolls downstage and heckles the audience. Oh, she can tell the future, all right. "Nothing easier," she says. "But who can tell your past, eh? Nobody! You lie awake nights trying to know your past. What did it mean? What was it trying to say to you? Think! Think!"
Think, indeed. The only action one can take toward the past is to think about it. This may be the one way the past...
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