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. He was not surprised when he felt the touch of a pickpocket; he grabbed a wrist to find out what he had landed.
First he recovered his wallet. Then he looked at the thief. He was a dirty-faced young fraki who reminded Thorby poignantly of Ziggie, except that this kid had two hands. "Better luck next time," he consoled him. "You don't have the touch yet."
The kid seemed about to cry. Thorby started to turn him loose, then said, "Fritz, check your wallet."
Fritz did so, it was gone. "Well, I'll be --"
"Hand it over, kid."
"I didn't take it! You let me go!"
"Cough up . . . before I unscrew your skull."
The kid surrendered Fritz's wallet; Thorby turned him loose. Fritz said, "Why did you do that? I was trying to spot a cop."
"That's why."
"Huh? Talk sense."
"I tried to learn that profession once. It's not easy."
"You? A poor joke, Thorby."
"Remember me? The ex-fraki, the beggar's boy? That clumsy attempt to equalize the wealth made me homesick. Fritz, where I come from, a pickpocket has status. I was merely a beggar."
"Don't let Mother hear that."
"I shan't. But I am what I am and I know what I was and I don't intend to forget. I never learned the pickpocket art, but I was a good beggar, I was taught by the best. My Pop. Baslim the Cripple. I'm not ashamed of him and all the Laws of Sisu can't make me."
"I did not intend to make you ashamed," Fritz said quietly
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