can't see my tale

Nothing.

Everything.

Anything.

These three words are, in and of themselves, relatively benign. But imagine if you said them slowly and surely, one after the other with a sense of urgency in your voice and a half-eaten growl in your throat. If you almost choked back a tear on the last one. If you left a baroque pause between the first and second while you lit a cigarette and looked angled at the floor.

France has surrendered for less.