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Unformatted text preview: ket, dancing and clambering around the tour- ists, and snatching the wallets from them, as he'd been taught to do? What was wrong in his head that he did that? The question would probably torment him till the day he died. Of course they had beaten him, starved him, taunted and threatened him, caught him twice when he'd tried to run away, and finally convinced him they would kill him if he tried again. They had also been tender at times, and persuasive, full of promises-all that was true too. But at nine years old, Yuri should have known better. That's what he figured. His mother, even in childhood, would not have been such a fool. No pimp had ever enslaved Yuri's mother. No man had ever intimidated her, though she had fallen in love now and then ... at least for a little while. As for Yuri's father, Yuri never knew that man, but he knew of him-an American from Los Angeles, and rich. Before Yuri and his mother had left Rome on that last journey together, she had hidden in a safe-deposit box the passport of Yuri's father, along with some money, some photographs and a fine Japa...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10