Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. “I want to be your friend,” he said. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. As long as I live here, you stop fucking the children and you stop trying to fuck me. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks.
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