Ay, my lord, I would know that.

When I was growing up, I was insatiable for knowing. I wanted to know about people, how they thought, what they did, what they wore in other countries, how they danced, what they sang, what they dreamed of. I read books to get a drink of this knowing whenever I could. I watched plays, movies or TV and hoped they would satisfy more of my knowing. I wanted to know whys and hows, explanations and propositions. I thought I could read every book in the library and I nearly did read every book in the children’s room. There seemed no limit to the things I would want to know.

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