Here a slight noise from his rear caused Stanley to wheel in his tracks
and stare stupidly at a dim figure under the shadow of a portico in
front of the basement of the main edifice, which was, in fact, about
the only part of that vast group of buildings that seemed unharmed.
"Who are you? What brought you here?" came an unmistakably feminine
voice.
More wonderful still, the language was English -- good English, too.
Was there not also an American twang about the tone and accent?
Stanley could have pinched himself, had he thought of it. But so
surprised was he that he seemed actually paralyzed, when an
unmistakably girlish figure emerged more into the light.
Still the young observer stared, hardly noticed that another older form
had made a dim appearance. It, too, wore skirts, though rather raged
and soiled. The girl's habiliments also evinced that her recent abode
had not been where style and cleanliness were at all dominant.
"You -- you are not Germans?" This tremulously from the girl. "You
understand me, don't you?"
"Yes, ma am," Stanley almost stuttered.
"Y-you s-see -- I'm some surprised --"
"Some surprised!" The girl was smiling hopefully. "That sounds like
good old United States talk."
"We heard so much noise overhead, then some nasty bombs exploding. So
Brenda and I have lain hidden in the cellars for -- for hours.
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