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. As he grew older, learned the language and the streets, Baslim began to send him out on his own, to run errands, to shop for food, and sometimes to make a pitch by himself while the old man stayed in. Thus he "fell into evil company" if one can fall from elevation zero.
He returned one day with nothing in his bowl. Baslim made no comment but the boy explained. "Look, Pop, I did all right!" From under his clout he drew a fancy scarf and proudly displayed it
Baslim did not smile and did not touch it. "Where did you get that?"
"I inherited it!"
"Obviously. But from whom?"
"A lady. A nice lady, pretty.
"Let me see the house mark. Mmm . . . probably Lady Fascia. Yes, she is pretty, I suppose. But why aren't you in jail?"
"Why, gee, Pop, it was easy! Ziggie has been teaching me. He knows all the tricks. He's smooth -- you should see him work."
Baslim wondered how one taught morals to a stray kitten? He did not consider discussing it in abstract ethical terms; there was nothing in the boy's background, nothing in his present environment, to make it possible to communicate on such a level.
"Thorby, why do you want to change trades? In our business you pay the police their commission, pay your dues to the guild, make an offering at the temple on holy day, and you've no worries. Have we ever gone hungry?"
"No, Pop -- but look at it! It must have cost almost a stellar!"
"At least two stellars, I'd say
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