Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. “I had no idea that it was so abominably late. I'm not hungry. 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. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober.
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