Strange things start happening inside your head when people like you. At first you feel smug and a tiny bit guilty. Then, without realising it, you begin to believe. If they like me, you find yourself thinking, there must be something there to like. In vain you try reminding yourself where all this comes from; they like me because I happen to be able to group all six inside the inner gold at thirty yards, or because my father got killed because of the incompetence of the joint chiefs of staff. You start to spin cobwebs of rationalisation; ah yes, but what they really like is how modest and
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