You now own seventy-two words and one honest recommendation: don't learn them. Not the way you'd learn a speech, anyway. Learn six. The six that match the way your own asks usually fail — the vague ones, the unbounded ones, the ones where you nodded at an answer you should have cross-examined. Use those six until they stop feeling like techniques and start feeling like typing. Then come back for six more, the way you'd return to a toolbox for a tool a new job suddenly needs.
That is how this book was built, after all: not all at once, and not from theory. One word at a time, purchased by one real day of work, by two partners who got tired of misunderstanding each other and did something unfashionable about it — they got precise. The machine on your side of the screen is waiting to be asked better. It is, in the experience recorded here, surprisingly willing to deserve it.
Ask well. It compounds.
The machine is not the hard part. The ask is the hard part — and now you have seventy-two ways to make it a good one.