" "That's right, Captain," rejoined Blueskin. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. 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. ’ ‘And you do not know me.
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