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... p> He didn't need to see anything. The sound of the voice alone was enough. His fists clenched tightly around the edge of the chair he was tied to, and through gritted teeth, he spat out with venom, "So it is this bastard… It is this bastard Oliver that actually did this?!"
He couldn't see a thing, but the direction of the voice was too familiar. The way he carried himself, the arrogance in his tone, the calm threat behind his words it could only be Oliver.
Clinton's voice rose, ...
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