Look, Arnet, if you've got a personal beef with me, fine, have a personal beef with me, but not on her time. It seemed an odd haircut to me, but it wasn't my hair. And your not-so-subtly encouraging him to look at other women made him turn to me for advice. I fought the urge to squirm or shuffle my feet.
How could he look at me like that? Didn't he know better? He'd lived with me for four months. I was losing him. Her eyes were getting shinier. I waited to be irritated, but I wasn't.
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