Just like that, she exists again. Roland studies her, frowning thoughtfully, and moves a step or two back away from the crowd while he thinks about it. "Been called a robot a time or two," he says, and depending on how good she is at reading expressions it might be clear now that the question's got him curious about her.

"But no. The robots the Great Old Ones built in my world are made a great deal differently, in any case. These-" And here he holds up his right hand, because what else but those fingers could she be talking about, "Other than these I'm human enough. True threaded, for some generations back." The term, made up of English words as it is, doesn't set off the Capitol-made translation chip inside Roland's brain and so he does not think that she wouldn't know it. He might be a little surprised, in fact, to hear about any world in which attempts to get mutants out of the bloodlines was not simply a fact of life.

"Mind if I ask why you'd wonder? I've been asked quite a few questions in my time here, by fans and news-men and stylists and tributes. Never one quite like that."