The old man laid a withered, spotted hand on his shoulder. It hurts, boy, he said softly. Oh, yes. Choosing . . . it has always hurt. And always will. I know.
George R.R. Martin
The old man laid a withered, spotted hand on his shoulder. It hurts, boy, he said softly. Oh, yes. Choosing . . . it has always hurt. And always will. I know.