Before any assistance could be rendered by the jailers, who stood astounded, Blueskin had got Wild in his clutches. 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. Winter came: rainy, damp, and savage. But if I painted her as I'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd have to build up confidence all over again.
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