Fancy felt light headed and took deep breaths. For a moment she thought she was going to go into hysterics.
Fancy kept opening her mouth to speak but she couldn't get out any words. She kept seeing that house. That old expensive house in a well to do neighborhood. With its glittering clean windows and manicured lawn. And the door standing open. The door was never left open. And everyone around went on as if nothing had happened, as if nothing was out of place. Only some vagrant, who didn't care much for his own life had told Fancy what she was already contemplating, fearing. Gestapo took them out this morning. He had said nothing else, there was nothing else to be said. That summed it all up. The end of things. And still Fancy had gone running through the house.
"Marie," she started, stopped, then started again. "this isn't something to get involved in. This isn't some picture show French bordello. This is real and risky."