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Üks teine mees sõidutas nad piirilinna Torkhami, mille kõrval asub USA sõjaväebaas, mis näeb välja nagu Ameerika Lääne laadis fort, väravas rajamaa skaudid, väravast läbi kulgemas veo- ja sõiduautod, kaamelid, lambad ja inimesed.
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He and his father stood by the road. A mini-van appeared and his father put out his hand. It stopped and Bhahar took it down to Jalalabad, the cold, rushing Kunar River a hundred yards wide, on his left. The city, in the lowlands, was hot and humid. The next day his uncle took him to the agent, who took him to a house where three boys were waiting. Another man drove them to Torkham, the border crossing, with a U.S. military base, like a fort in the American West, next to it, Frontier Scouts manning the gate, and trucks, cars, camels, sheep, and people walking. They passed through the gate and drove the winding paved road through the hills, with baked mud compounds dotting the landscape, to Peshawar, a sprawling city of three million. He dropped the boys off at a safe house, where other boys were waiting.
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