Bradley McCurley

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I wasn’t weeping. This was pain past weeping. The only thing new about this was admitting it aloud, to myself. “I brought it all down on myself. It was all my own doing.” He leaned across the table to set his long cool hand atop mine. “It’s a foolish game, Fitz,” he said softly. “And you attribute too much power to yourself, and too little to the sweep of events.
Golden Fool (Tawny Man, #2)
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