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No, not at all. Not at all.
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You don't even think I'm a writer, do you?
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I think you're a writer if you keep on writing, Becca.
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Am I a writer?
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Well, I know that, when I saw you read your pages here
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in the coffeehouse, I was-- I was proud of you.
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- You saw me? - Yeah. Yeah, I snuck in
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and then out again unseen.
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I asked you not to come.
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I know, but you didn't really mean it.
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Yes, I did.
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Well, aren't you secretly touched that I cared enough