He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and kept polishing them against his sweater.

“Arthur,” Claire said, stopping two feet away from him.

Arthur put his glasses back on, settling them on his nose.

“How are you holding up, Claire?”

“We need to get the boys out of there,” she said.

Arthur stopped polishing his pen.

“What are you talking about?”

“They don’t belong here,” Claire said, her voice dropping to a whisper.