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Bree, I think it's been ten minutes!
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No! No, not even close!
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Keep whisking till it's light and frothy!
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Okay, I don't care how long it's been,
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that stuff ain't getting any frothier.
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And I got a cramp in my shooting hand.
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So if a criminal gets away tomorrow, it'll be your fault.
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I'm so sorry.
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Here. Let me, uh, massage it for you.
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He took a picture of your hand while you were sleeping?
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How creepy is that?
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I know. Why would he do such a thing?