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“God damn you anyway, Pellinore Warthrop! The days of your puerile attempts to manipulate and control me are over. So save the melodramatic sniveling for someone else.” His shoulders heaved. “There is no one else.” “That is your choice, not mine.” “You chose to leave me!” he shouted up into my face. “You gave me no choice!”
The Final Descent (The Monstrumologist, #4)
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