[how should he take this? he's not sure. his head is pounding, and he's staring at the now mostly-finished walls of his newly built cabin. prior to that moment, he'd been sanding the floors, a little too obsessively.]
I don't know why you've spoken to me now. I know neither your true intent nor your motivation. But your words were too fiery and spoken with too much conviction for me to accept this as sincere. You are not someone who speaks without deliberation. You meant what you said. And how you said it.
What was the point of this meaningless exercise? You feel no true remorse. You are a case, Ms. Karimov, of someone who hides behind the illusion of speaking plainly.
For fuck's...I acted badly. Where I come from, if you act like a shitheel, you acknowledge that you were a shitheel, and you apologize for shitheeling. Typically there's no subsequent psychoanalysis session.
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... Fine.
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[The rustle of a shrug.]
And I speak without deliberation all the time. Though I'm flattered that you actually think of me as calculating.
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What.
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As you like.
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There is nothing nice about it. Nothing.
[he grinds his teeth; spits.]
I will have no more to do with Ashraf. Not so long as he spends his time with someone as cruel and honorless as you.
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