[Ah. She pauses, something preternaturally still in her expression as she seriously evaluates the question.]

It's difficult the give an accurate number. Some of the consciousnesses are remnants and parsing one from the next is a needless reduction. [Simply put: it doesn't really work that way. He's asking her to sort half remembered childhood memories, or to count every hair on her head (including ones she's broken).] But for the sake of an answer, lets say two hundred, give or take thirty.

[She smiles at him. It's pleasant.]

That doesn't include you, of course.