Everything was difficult and nothing was easy, that was a fact. But now, suddenly, Treger had a bright idea: there was another dark boy, wasn't there? A boy who, after all, delivered an advertising free-sheet door to door in their neighborhood, thirteen or fourteen years old, a little Turkling, or Algerite or some other little goat-fucker, whom, together, they'd met often enough and who had sometimes looked inquisitively at them?
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