It seems to me now that the past belongs to those who have the self-possession, or the arrogance, or enough sheer determined longing, to stamp their own particular imagination history. It was no use wondering what I would have put in this room wee it mine to fill, it never would be. I remembered Phoebe telling me, People believe what they want. But there was also this: People want to believe. And somewhere between wanting to believe and believing what we want, there is the story we call the truth.