Rob Hendricks

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“We are not monsters yet; But we do not forget; We are lost, outcasts all. I caught him too late. His sigh— A shudder. Last goodbye. Time passes, cities rise and nations fall; And yet they will always hate us all. Goblins. Why do they hate us so? Why does the wind blow? I suppose I will never know.”
The General of Izril (The Wandering Inn, #6)
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