Turning to a group that included Rob, Amelia, and a few others she didn’t know well, she said, “It always makes me a bit sad seeing roasted chickens at gatherings.” The group paused, forks midway to their plates, to listen to her. “Many of these chickens are raised in conditions where they’re tightly packed and can’t move freely. They’re bred to grow so quickly that it causes them physical pain.”
One of them replies with a shrug, “So I’ve heard. I can believe it.” Another says, “You knew this wasn’t a vegan gathering when you decided to come.” A third says, “You have said this; I have heard it. Message acknowledged and understood.” A fourth says, “This is important to you; but it is not so important to me.” A fifth says “I’m blogging this.” They carry on gnawing at the chicken wings in their hands.
These are all things that I might say, if I were inclined to say anything at all.
One of them replies with a shrug, “So I’ve heard. I can believe it.” Another says, “You knew this wasn’t a vegan gathering when you decided to come.” A third says, “You have said this; I have heard it. Message acknowledged and understood.” A fourth says, “This is important to you; but it is not so important to me.” A fifth says “I’m blogging this.” They carry on gnawing at the chicken wings in their hands.
These are all things that I might say, if I were inclined to say anything at all.
Valid responses.