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... und sat alone at the head of the table. His expression was ... how should Primrose describe it? Bad? Constipated? Murderous?

Whatever it was, he looked mad. His entire body was tense beneath his attire.

His fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white, and his jet-black hair was slightly tousled as if he'd run his hands through it too many times in frustration.

What's his deal? Primrose frowned, sneaking a glance at him.

Then, she heard his mind.

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