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... her did those answers.
To be honest, they just tumbled out of my blathering gob, this mouth of mine that simply won’t stay shut. It was as if I was stamping out every question like an ant. Yeah, more precisely, like an ant about to bite me.
Pure reflex. Instinct.
Nothing from my brain.
Maybe it was just my survival instinct, which fear has castrated far too often.
"Well, I must say, you’ve got some brass neck, haven’t you... answering like that."
A ...
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