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You could take away my arms and legs, my body and my breasts; you could cut off my head and still not end the myth. You will not find my answer in the puzzle of a stony foot, you will not find me in my snakes. You will not find me in my deeds, nor in poems written by long dead men. But you will find me when you need me, when the wind hears a woman’s cry and fills my sails forward. And I will whisper in the water that one must never fear the raised shield, the reflection caught in an office window, or the mirror in a bathroom.