He began to sweat almost at once, and profusely. Senlin suffered a moment of self-loathing so intense it felt almost carnal. He had been given so many opportunities. Over and over, ill fate had ruined the woman ahead of him or demolished the man behind him, and he had slipped by unscathed. And what had he done with all his good luck? Nothing. He’d somehow managed to defy the law of the Tower that said what was lost once was lost forever, only to bungle the miracle when it came. He’d made friends only to lose them. He deserved what he got. He deserved worse, and Marat would probably provide it.
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