I found your credit card and I returned it.

You told me your feelings for her and I kept silent.

It fell into my pocket and I couldn't sleep all night and now I buy that brand every time I go out and I don't even like them.

I represented myself fairly on paper, with references chosen for their impartiality, and I didn't get the job.

I muttered under my breath that I would fucking kill you, but I didn't. But I told myself that if someone else killed you I wouldn't feel bad. But I would. I would wonder who had read my mind and acted on my murderous rage. Then I would wonder if they could see all my dirty thoughts. I would curtail further naughty thoughts and lead a virtuous, virtuous life.