<blockquote>“You remember your grandmother,” they’d said to Sofia when she was seven, and she’d looked up and said, “Not this one.”
Her parents always told it smiling, like it was clever of her to have noticed Grandmother had changed; who could have told the difference, they asked each other, and her grandfather nodded his familiar amazement, and in the corner the machine that wasn’t her grandmother looked back and forth with a smile.</blockquote>
