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... speak with the sage, he could not find any chance.
Every time he got close to him, the version that looked like Eleanor suddenly appeared beside him.
She blocked his way and pushed him back into the same closed loop.
He sat on the chair placed in the middle of the corridor, interlaced his fingers, and pressed them tightly until the color of his knuckles faded.
"What is wrong with you Oliver. She is not Eleanor. She is just a copy, nothing more."
He said it ...
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