But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. 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. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. He saluted awkwardly.
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