Sunday was an Indian summer day, the sun was strong, my windoen,and I heard voices on the fire escape. Holly and Mag were sprawled there on ablahe cat betweeheir hair, newly washed, hung lankly. They werebusy, Holly varnishioenails, Mag knitting on a sweater. Mag eaking.
"If you ask me, I think youre l-l-lucky. At least theres ohing you say forRusty. Hes an Ameri."
"Bully for him."
"Sugar. Theres a war on."
"And when its over, youve seen the last of me, boy."
"I dohat way. Im p-p-proud of my try. The men in my family weregreat soldiers. Theres a statue of Papadaddy Wildwood sma the ter ofWildwood."
"Freds a soldier," said Holly. "But I doubt if hell ever be a statue. Could be. Theysay the more stupid you are the braver. Hes pretty stupid."
"Freds that boy upstairs? I didnt realize he was a soldier. But he does lookstupid."
"Yearning. Not stupid. He wants awfully to be on the iaring out: anybodywith their nose pressed against a glass is liable to look s……（内容加载失败！）
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