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1 " That afternoon, she'd looked across at Storrow, at his proud, immaculate features and depthless gaze, and felt as if this man was every man she'd ever hated. He was Torsten; he was Vasily; he was every brutal narcissist who lived to impress his distortions of reality upon souls weaker than his own- which Storrow had, misguidedly, taken hers to be. "
― Robin Kirman , Bradstreet Gate
