The Smallminded Grant had changed my life more than money should but does, and in the process it transformed Trent into a living symbol. The man represented everything I was struggling against, everything I could never be. When I knocked on the door of their suburban home, I despised him. Trent had proved himself to be a petty tyrant without a shred of nobility and a small mean soul. For reasons of its own, society had conspired to hand this shallow paper-pusher control over me. It was bad enough that I had degraded myself by bowing and scraping at his pathetic altar to receive the money I needed to write my book. But then, as my work approached completion, Mr. Trent and the Smallminded Foundation suddenly withdrew all support from my efforts. He chastised my life, my work, the very fiber of my art. Trent sickens me.
Lord Malinov, Flowers of Malinov