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C?lim?ne: What angel sent you to make us laugh like this? We're so dreadfully starved for entertainment.Jean-Baptiste Poquelin: What, madame? I thought the greatest minds jostled their way in here.C?lim?ne: If you knew what we endured. It's often a draw between boredom and the grotesque. People jostle, yes, only to declare their unwanted passion. Like that poor Mr. Jourdain.Jean-Baptiste Poquelin: Mr. Jourdain, you say?C?lim?ne: Imagine a farmyard rooster, disguised as a pheasant, sputtering rhymes in my face a child of eight would no longer dare read. You see my predicament. Then the oaf gazes stupidly at me hoping to be loved in return. As if I could possibly be interested in every uncouth merchant and farmer who aspires to become a marquis.M. Jourdain: [revealing himself after having been disguised as a woman in the background] How right you are, Madame. How clever your mind is at unmasking our weaknesses. The truth be told, I admire you. I thought it was your intelligence that made you an exceptional being. I realize now it's only your upbringing that gives you style for your soul is entirely devoted to cruelty. You amuse your suite with jokes about those who are absent. But I say it is an insult to your beauty, your intelligence, and your rank that you're incapable of stating what you truly think to one's face. You used the donkey as an example: an animal that waits until you're not looking to kick you. I shall go now, Madame, and leave you to bray about me in my absence.

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