Thirty minutes had passed.366Please respect copyright.PENANA4xFePzxcbJ
Three were still not many people in the square. Old Mr. Bhreznik was still there, standing behind an officer who was sitting at the desk and two other very old men, one of whom, Zredhku Jaral, was his cousin Kszar's grandfather. Aloj, his arm clamped by the hand of the soldier who had captured him, was between Borburo and Kszar. He couldn't move.366Please respect copyright.PENANADNOvkXs6eK
The women of the village, Aloj's mother included---but not his sister, naturally---had come out of the houses to stand in tense, silent clusters here and there. From time to time one of them said something to one of the soldiers, but the soldiers paid no mind. The soldiers were in a kind of ragged ring around the square, and everybody, both soldiers and civilians, were facing the officer, who was now looking at some papers. Borburo and Kszar each had a soldier gripping his arm.366Please respect copyright.PENANA0JU9r01vfJ
Aloj stared around him. His heart was pounding, and his breath came in uneven, shallow gasps. Although he stood absolutely still, he could feel waves of fear---but mostly rage---rock through him. It was like the feeling you got in an earthquake, and he knew he might not have been able to run even if the soldier had released him. But it didn't matter. Running was the worst thing to do. The soldiers always shot you if you ran. If you didn't run, there was a chance you might live. 366Please respect copyright.PENANAkGQisg6ntr
366Please respect copyright.PENANAJ3la2X4hJz
366Please respect copyright.PENANAJGqowJ6Gey