But none of that matters at all. His head raised to stare balefully at me, but I said, incoherent yet convinced, It’s just—a way to go. There isn’t only one way to go. I waved at his notes. You’re trying to find a road where there isn’t one. It’s like—it’s gleaning in the woods, I said abruptly. You have to pick your way through the thickets and the trees, and it’s different every time.