“Her eyes roam desperately, looking for some shelter from the bitter London cold. There. The handsome wooden storefront. The door is heavy and solid as she opens it, expecting to be enveloped by the warm vapors of a tea shop. But there are no tables, no waitresses in uniforms, she realizes as she unbuttons her soaked raincoat in confusion and disappointment. Instead, the walls are hung with photographs.A photo gallery! She hasn’t come across a single one since arriving, and now, by accident, she... stumbles into one! She steps in closer, staring. She sees a photo of a young girl carrying a baby through the rubble of a destroyed village. Her eyes are large, dark—already old. They stare directly into hers, filled with fear, hope, and a simple resignation that challenge her pity. “What is your pity worth?” the girl’s face seems to say, the baby close in her arms as she steps through disaster toward an unknown future.I cannot move, she thinks, mesmerized.“I don’t know why they insist on hanging up such rubbish.”The voice is deep, rude, male.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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