Chapter SevenJostled by a pair of German women in the armed forces auxiliaries whose drab uniforms coined the slur “gray mice,” Rolande glared at them. Her face flamed, and the warmth had nothing to do with the day’s heat. She would never get used to being insulted, despite her realization that being a woman of ill-repute made her unworthy of respect.
Matching holes in the man’s uniform couldn’t be anything but the result of bullets, yet he seemed unharmed. Perhaps he had recovered. Couldn’t the Occupiers afford new uniforms for their soldiers? What did his furtive glance at the officer next to him mean? He seemed guilty or unsure of himself. She’d yet to meet a German officer who exhibited uncertainty.
A chill swept over her. The brief exchange with him was not enough to provide any pro
