352. The surprisingly familiar smell of the mouldering paper of the periodicals room. Books surrounded her, words and wisdom from the ages, all bound and stacked and aligned, like the life she'd never had; all of it calling to her as she sat in deep concentration, head down, her blonde hair covering her face, her fingers at her cheeks and temple, the weight bearing down. She stayed bowed in concentration for more than an hour until it leapt out at her from the page, knocking her back in her seat. Her father was born 60 years ago on chap gor meh in the Year of the Monkey.