Lola waited inside the red brick house.
She sat on a stool, her expression calm, yet her heart was filled with helplessness.
She was a farm girl, her entire family had been plundered and brought here, what could she do?
She had been asked those questions, and she had answered truthfully, only to end up with this result, what could she do?
Old Richard huddled in a corner with a troubled frown.
The scars from being beaten months ago lingered on his face, hidden by his graying hair.
He was just over forty years old, but the backbreaking labor was quickly draining all the life from his body, perhaps within less than ten years, he would die coughing blood in the fields.
Those from the neighboring household, temporarily staying in the same room, comforted his wife and daughter.
"Those soldiers feast on meat at every meal."
Could they hit his daughter harder?
"Those soldiers train every day."
Did all the household chores have to be done by his daughter?
