No one is 'whooping' me with anything. I've broken enough bones at my father's hand and that was just for existing. So excuse me for being proud of myself, but I won't apologize for being a babe at the bosom of France and believing in her, in spite of an unjust king who ignores his subjects.
Are you really any different from my father and the soldier who shot me?
I'm not so sure right now.
No more sublimal threats of beating me, killing each other and indicating that I'm an evil child for driving this Monsieur to drink, please. You all ought to be ashamed of yourself.
But I apologize.
And from now on, I do not wish to associate with you at all.
And I shall speak French, because I will no longer try to speak your language. It's
inutile.