Marla took a deep breath and rubbed her forehead, as she paced in front of a meeting of the refugee workers at Bloomsbury House. “Hitler is on our doorstep, chasing our Kindertransport children,” she said. “Their worst nightmares have caught up with them. We’ve waited as long as we can; now we have to move them to the countryside. Even that may not keep them safe, but at least they’ll have a better chance in the country.”
Sebastian stepped up beside her. “Marla’s right. Everyone pull out every favor you can.”
“Do whatever it takes. Beg, cajole, threaten if you have to,” Marla said, “but we must help find these children places in the countryside. We’ve done no good if the German bombs get them now.”
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