If I do this thing,” he said, “it is the last I will ever do for you. Do not come begging again.”“Father,” I said, “I never will. I leave this place tomorrow.”He would not ask where, he would not even wonder. So many years I had spent as a child sifting his bright features for his thoughts, trying to glimpse among them one that bore my name. But he was a harp with only one string, and the note it played was himself.
-Madeline Miller
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