She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town. There was no one stirring in the flats. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid.
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