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Don't be sad.
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That's good. You're not sad. Oh, you're happy!
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Paw.
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No paw. That's okay, too.
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And the last thing that the killer ever saw
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was the Quaker take out a cut-throat razor,
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put it to his own throat, and slice.
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What's up, Bickle? Don't you get it?
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Oh, I get it.
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You don't look like you get it.
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Maybe it ain't clear enough.
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Maybe I should have had you write it with me.