"I am not doing anything," she answered.
"Yes, but from where do you get money to buy food?"
"I am not buying any."
"But you don't live without food!"
She shrugged her shoulders and turned away in despair.
I waited a few moments, and as I got no answer I repeated my question. All in vain. She would not answer. As I sat there the door was opened and a little shrunken, dirty boy of about eight years, barefoot and wrapped up in a pair of overalls, came in.
"I got a good big one," he said, as he put a package on the folding bed. He turned round, and saw me. Mother and child looked at one another understandingly. Without another word the boy disappeared. The mother manipulated the package from the folding bed to the window sill.
"From where did the boy get this package?" I asked.
"From nowhere—he did not get it—he took it, from—"