CalBook - 1983
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Sometimes in her presence he felt like Quasimodo - as if the ugliness of what he had done showed in his face. The brand in the middle of his forehead would never disappear and seemed to throb when she was near. Alone, now, he relaxed into his ugliness. To hell, why not? If he could not take her like Sleeping Beauty then he could ravish the things which surrounded her. His impotence was something he could smell and touch.
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