It was like a chef telling a little baby how to fix a car—completely unbelievable!
Roseanne glanced at Liz, who stood frozen in place, and spoke in a calm, even tone, "Thank you for your advice earlier, Senior Liz. I, of course, understand the importance of rigor, truth-seeking, and pragmatism in our research. These are the fundamental qualities of a scientist. But I believe we should also be open to listening and accepting valid suggestions from others. Don't you think?"
"Just like with today's situation. It doesn't matter who makes the suggestion or what it is about. It should be verified before we decide if it's right or wrong, instead of just going with our gut feeling."
Roseanne's tone was smooth, as though she was merely stating facts.
But to Liz, every word struck like a needle, painfully sharp.
It wasn't a lecture, but it felt like one.
Her face flushed hot in an instant, as if set aflame.
...
After another busy day, Roseanne dragged her exhausted body home, flopped down on the couch, and immediately snuggled into a pillow, closing her eyes.
Under the same night sky, some were too busy to sleep, while others reveled in the nightlife.
The pounding drums, the dazzling lights, the young, sexy bodies gyrating on the dance floor - York was caught up in the feverish enthusiasm, his body moving involuntarily.
In his hand was a wine glass, the red liquid swirling with his movements.
His gaze occasionally swept over the young bodies in the dance floor, like a panther choosing its prey.
"What are you looking at? Didn't you say you wanted to play cards? What, lost too much and not feeling it anymore?" Cliff teased lazily, bringing over a drink, noticing York had slipped away to dance alone.
York raised an eyebrow, replying, "What are you talking about? I've never been afraid of losing."
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