No, not as the culmination of a chain of events initiated in her mind and sent as nerve impulses to her fingertips. From the inspirations and dreams I...sent her while she slept. From notions I inserted into her petty little thoughts. From me and no other source.How many times did she end a particularly productive writing session with no memory of having pecked out the letters and words and sentences that filled the typewritten pages? In a trance, she was, a dream state so deep that she was. “Hello,” I said. “The computer?” she asked, returning her attention to the document. “Yes, I was told that the hard disk had failed.” “So it seems,” the woman muttered, then tucked a lock of her long black hair behind her ear. “Can I look at it?” “Oh, sure,” she smiled even more formally, and didn’t even look at me this time. It took me about a minute to come to the conclusion that the computer has a serious problem. “I have to take it with me.” “Pardon?” her green eyes were staring at. More

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