He is my friend. He is, like, one of my best friends.
I understand that.
No, you don't. You get to tell your friends that you work for the CIA while I go home and look desperately for a tiny moment that I can be honest with anyone about anything. Now that Will knows the truth - he's never going to trust me again. You should have seen his face in Paris. It was like he was looking at a stranger.
But he wasn't. He was looking at you. Maybe for the first time. He was looking at you.
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