He nods in approval as she does so, just fine with the fact that she's not catching on to said paranoia. Private paranoia is just fine. And then he laughs, just because he's now free to utter these words at will:
"Chyeah, I am nineteen." Dexter seems to be proud of this. "I mean - please. What've you got?"
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"Chyeah, I am nineteen." Dexter seems to be proud of this. "I mean - please. What've you got?"