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... or a penance for my sins; it had become a desperate, frantic escape.

I was running from the suffocating atmosphere of the training ground, from the silent, resentful glances of my players, from the ghost of Lewis Grant that haunted every corridor. I was running from the man I saw in the mirror, a man I no longer recognized, a man who was losing control of the beautiful, fragile thing he had built.

The city was a blur of indifferent concrete and sleeping houses, but the landscape ...

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