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which I had not deserved,
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because Mary Crawley crooked her little finger at him.
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It was his choice, not mine.
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So you say.
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But now you're bored. You want someone else to play with.
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So, to dry his tears and keep him occupied,
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you toss him back to me.
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- This isn't my idea. - Well, it certainly isn't mine.
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You know, you're cutting off your nose to spite your face.
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- I'm going. - Well, what shall we do with your food?
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Eat it, and I hope it chokes you.
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That was a big success What's your next suggestion?