Are you mad at me for doing exactly what I am supposed to do? Do you not want me to do exactly what I am supposed to do as some backwards display of loyalty? If you told me to my face, I would understand. But don't make me read your mind. Don't make me fret. I resent a secret threat of fret. I seem mousey now, but I will get bigger. I will puff my chest until it pops. I am not afraid of popping, unlike you.
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