‘Listen,’ he put the lighter down and stood holding his rifle. ‘Tell me this. Is it true about the bridge?’
‘What about the bridge?’
‘That we blow up an obscene bridge and then have to obescenely well obscenity ourselves off out of these mountains?’
‘Go to the unprintable,’ Augustin said. ‘And unprint thyself.’
“What are you doing now, you lazy drunken obscene unsayable son of an unnameable unmarried gypsy obscenity? What are you doing?”
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