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One of Ours
a look of doubt, and then of fear. He had spoken before to Americans who didn’t understand, but they had not turned red and looked angry like this one; this soldier must be ill, or wrong in his head. The boy turned and ran away.
Many a serious mishap had distressed Claude less. He was disappointed, too. There was something friendly in the boy’s face that he wanted … that he needed. As he rose he ground his heel into the gravel. “Unless I can learn to talk to the children of this country,” he muttered, “I’ll go home!”
