Well, it's not, shut your gob. [ Flatly, impatiently, no time for Toto's sing-song bullshit. ]
[ The latter gets a long consideration, his finger shucking carefully under his chin, but he hasn't told him to shut the hell up about it yet, so that's a stride. He finally admits, plainly, ] I like blood.
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[ The latter gets a long consideration, his finger shucking carefully under his chin, but he hasn't told him to shut the hell up about it yet, so that's a stride. He finally admits, plainly, ] I like blood.
[ Which is wholely a lie. He loathes it. ]