"But finally you find that you have people of flesh and blood on your hands, people with will and an individual sensibility of their own, made out of component parts you are unable to change, manipulate or distort." (Harold Pinter)
He writes, then stays silent.
No promise, only the suggestion of a possibility, a tease.
She does not believe, has long concluded he’s a cheat, a selfish monster.
So he continues in his way, blind to the fact, evident to all,
That she has more malice than him…
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