The best thing, though, inthat museum was that everything always stayed right whereit was. Nobody‘d move. You could go there a hundredthousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just fin-ished catching those two fish, the birds would still be ontheir way south, the deers would still be drinking out ofthat water hole, with their pretty antlers and their pretty,
skinny legs, and that squaw with the naked bosom wouldstill be weaving that same blanket. Nobody‘d be different.
The only thing that would be different would be you. Notthat you‘d be so much older or anything. It wouldn‘t be that,exactly. You‘d just be different, that‘s all.