She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. " "I'll not go," answered the other. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. But I don’t want to. She knew, too, she must not hesitate. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. "Certain. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell.
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