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"He wasn't used to any thought that wasn't bitter on the tongue. He had been made by hatred; it had constructed him into this smoky murderous figure in the rain, hunted and ugly. His mother had borne him when his father was in gaol, and six years later when his father was hanged for another crime, she had cut her own throat with a kitchen knife; afterwards there had been the home. He had never felt the least tenderness for anyone; he was made in this image and he had made his own odd pride in the result; he didn't want to be unmade."
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