We must make our own way across Belgium and into France where a woman has told my father she can help. I do not know how long it will take, but I know there will be soup and hot water, a bed to rest and father says feathers fill the blankets in France. My mother repeats “ Not much further” again I believe her and still we are walking, a warm tear falls on my shoulder, so hot it seems to burn my skin, and we walk. At night it is so cold we must sleep in a barn on horse manure to keep warm. My mother holds me under her coat to keep the filth off my cloths, she is warm as I fall to sleep, she holds me so close I can feel her heart beating against my back. In the morning I wake still clasped in my mothers arms, I can not feel her heart. My father tells me we must hurry; he tearfully removes me from her grasp and covers her body with his long black coat. “Let her rest she is very tired, we must hurry before the sun”
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