Two tall boys came from the playground. They peeked at us out of curiosity. I stopped for two reasons: one, because they were the same boys I met outside the police station; two, one of them had my book in his hand. No, that was no longer my book. Sandro had donated them here as he said. But I knew it was the one that used to be mine because of the stain.
Sister Corrie followed my line of gaze and smiled at the boys, motioning for them to move closer towards us.
“Joshua and Pierre! Come here!”
I straightened my body as the two walked towards us. Sandro’s eyes narrowed at them. I could tell this was the first time he saw them here. And it was evident he recognized them, too. Like his memory, it was clear in my mind how they approached August after he got out of the police station. The
