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Most men, she’d decided, were bastards of varying degrees. Most of them were monsters.
“And what could I ever ask of you that I couldn’t do myself?”
That wildness, that untamed fierceness … They weren’t born of a free heart, but of one that had known despair so complete that living brightly, living violently, was the only way to outrun it.
He’d never realized how precious the calm moments were.
