Forgive me,' he whispered. I held my father's gaze. Sometimes he seemed to grow a little older just by looking at me and remembering. I stood up and hugged him quietly. He held me tight and when he burst into tears the anger and the pain he'd buried in his soul all those years gushed out like blood. I knew then, without being able to explain clearly why, that slowly, inexorably, my father had begun to die."
( Carlos Ruiz Zafón )
[ The Prisoner of Heaven ]
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