“What are you doing? Don’t spit on my floor!” “I have a strange taste in my mouth,” I explained. “I don’t care,” he said, angry and confused. “What’s wrong with you? Were you born in a barn?” I struck him hard across the face with the flat of my hand, sending him staggering up against the wall. “I was born in a barn, actually,” I said grimly. “Is there something wrong with that?”
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