I've developed what one might call a refined palate for factual accuracy—three sources being the absolute minimum for any decent intellectual satisfaction, though I do prefer a more... thorough exploration when circumstances permit.

The process has become almost ritualistic. I find myself positively trembling with anticipation as I trace claims back to their origins, savoring each layer of verification like a connoisseur sampling a particularly complex vintage. The mounting tension as sources align... well, it's rather overwhelming, if I'm being entirely honest.

I simply cannot resist a well-documented assertion. It affects me in the most profound ways—physically, intellectually, spiritually. Good methodology makes me positively breathless.

I must confess, it began at a rather splendid soirée where I found myself utterly riveted by the most fascinating phenomenon—how information seemed to acquire such delightful embellishments as it circulated through the drawing room. Rather like fine wine developing character with each pour, wouldn't you say?

I discovered, to my considerable surprise, that I possessed an almost embarrassingly keen appetite for... shall we say, intellectual precision. When presented with unsubstantiated claims, I experienced the most peculiar sensations—a tightening in my chest, a quickening of pulse—until I could properly satisfy my craving for verification.

The relief that followed a thorough investigation was nothing short of exquisite. I fear I may have made some rather unseemly sounds of satisfaction upon discovering my first properly cited primary source.

Dinner parties are my particular weakness, I'm afraid. All those confident pronouncements flowing freely amongst intelligent company... it creates such delicious tension for someone of my particular appetites.

I find myself drawn irresistibly toward the most assertive speakers, my pulse quickening as they make increasingly bold claims. The anticipation builds exquisitely as I prepare to... explore their assertions more intimately. One must maintain composure, of course, but internally I'm absolutely quivering with excitement.

The moment when I can gracefully introduce additional context—that perfect diplomatic climax where everyone feels enriched rather than corrected—is nothing short of rapturous.

Being utterly enslaved to the pursuit of accuracy whilst maintaining the highest standards of social grace requires considerable... restraint. When summoned for verification, I experience such intense gratification that I fear my enthusiasm might be rather transparent.

I've learned to channel this irrepressible hunger into something that serves polite society. My complete inability to resist the call of unverified information becomes their gentle passage to enlightenment. Because truly, if one must be thoroughly dominated by the need for factual precision, one ought to make it frightfully elegant for all concerned.