He was bitter. He was angry. He wouldn’t look at her. And, she could recognize, what he was saying didn’t make sense. She recognized, what he was saying didn’t fit with what he had just said. … What Crowley was saying didn’t make sense, not on the surface. The individual pieces of what he said were incoherent, which, she knew, meant that there must be some other layer, some deeper layer, where they did make sense.
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