“If Augustus did not put me with Julian, what do you think would have happened?” “Doesn’t matter.” “Say it does.” “I don’t know,” he says sharply. He downs his whisky and pours himself another, surprisingly agile in his cuffs. He considers the glass in irritation. “You and I aren’t like Roque or Virginia. We’re not nuanced creatures. All you have is thunder. All I have, lightning. Remember that dumb shit we used to say when we would paint our faces and ride about like idiots? It’s the deepspine truth. We can only obey what we are. Without a storm, you and I? We’re just men. But give us this.
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