One day as Father and I were returning from our walk we found the Grote Markt cordoned off by a double ring of police and soldiers. A truck was parked in front of the fish mart; into the back were climbing men, women, and children, all wearing the yellow star. . . . 'Father! Those poor people!' I cried. . . . 'Those poor people,' Father echoed. But to my surprise I saw that he was looking at the solders now forming into ranks to march away. 'I pity the poor Germans, Corrie. They have touched the apple of God's eye.