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E. . It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. "That's your hunting ground," said the doctor. Probably something he had eaten.
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