M. A. Foster

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Why had my father never told me not to scratch my groin? Why had my father never taught me to brush my teeth in milky foam? Why had he raised me to live like an animal? Why do all the poor live amid such filth, such ugliness? Brush. Brush. Spit. Brush. Brush. Spit. If only a man could spit his past out so easily.
The White Tiger
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