Within a few weeks of her escape, the girl outgrew her only dress and had nothing to wear. Trying not to make a fuss, I gave her something of mine. She thanked me. She looked so ashamed. That she, a child forced to comfort soldiers, should suffer shame for a baby fathered by violence, made me glower. No doubt that made her feel worse. Her face began to collapse like a grass shack in the wind. "Please, Mam," she said. "I can work." "Of course you can," I said. "There is always work." The weather should have been friendlier. The monsoons did not usually come so early. Rain poured down during the