‘No. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. It did seem germane to the matter that so many of the people “in the van” were plain people, or faded people, or tired-looking people. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. ’ She struggled.
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