Clutching Robbie in her arms and holding him tight, Helen Thompson sat down wearily on the ground. The cold and dampness was all around her, boring through the thin cotton dress she wore. Her flesh was cold and her dark brown hair hung in ringlets over her forehead. She wore no shoes. She had lost them miles back, near the ruins at the edge of Chicago. Her feet were blistered and bleeding, numb now from the cold of early morning.

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