“I sat back and looked at it. It was ugly, dark, uncontrolled. Like a
monster’s face. Or maybe what I saw there was my own face. I couldn’t quite
tell. Was the face the image of something evil or the image of myself?
“Both,” Bea muttered, as if I’d spoken my question out loud. “Of course,
it’s both. But it shouldn’t be. Goodness, no.”
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