‘Well,’ I said. ‘If she brought me here to look at me, let her look at me,’ and as I said it, I knew that it had already happened. How long had I been sitting on that bench? As I had been remembering her, she had been examining me.
‘Oh. She did already, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘And did I pass?’ The face of the old woman on my right was unreadable in the gathering dusk. On my left the younger woman said, ‘You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.’

//Neil Gaiman, 2013, The Ocean at the End of the Lane