I don't know you. Not any more. But I did. I knew you, and I loved you. I understand now, of course, that you've been interpreting my attempts at showing my affection as some sort of mocking, but did you never pause to ask yourself why I would bother? Think, my boy. After you got off the bus, before you killed a single one of my men, I embraced you. Why would I have any reason to do that, even in mocking, if what I say wasn't true?