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It must be the way you seem to shrug off everything that happens to you easily. The things that you keep close to you and let go off are no small pebbles of pelting, but boulders would crash anyone in their wake. But you stumble on, soldiering on like a good soldier where others would crumble and fall, taking it in your stride and allowing your own pride to lick its wounds when you gently mock and allow me to poke surreptitiously at our failings and successes. Such must be the way we deal with our the people who give us grief.


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