He looks… interesting. Oh, I don’t know why I’m being polite: he looks as if someone hammered chunks out of a mountain, saw a man’s likeness in the resulting craggy mess, and gave it life. He’s all weather-beaten skin, wild, midnight hair that falls into his eyes, and a nose that could be called a beak if beaks were crooked. His mouth is a grim, finely carved line that my own would suffocate, and his shoulders are like boulders. His knuckles are like walnuts. If I’m frank, he’s quite ugly, but there is something about him. The fleeting urge to crack him open should have faded by now, but it’s
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