"Nearly all the people outside seem to have fathers and mothers. I
never had either. I have always lived here, but nobody here is my
father or my mother, and I don't know how I came here. I have been
here so long, and yet it seems so strange to me. This is my only home,
and yet I never feel at home in it. I always feel as if I belonged
somewhere else. I see the people outside and I feel as if I belonged
with them more than here, yet I have never been outside this place one
single night."
"You go out often in the daytime, then?" Kathleen asked.
"Oh, yes; I go out every day, almost, and I go to school. Have you
been to school?"
"Why, of course," Kathleen answered; "doesn't everybody have to go to
school?"
"These people here never go to school," Terence said. "I am the only
one who goes, and then I have to try to teach them what I have
learned. Do you go home from school and try to teach your father what
you have learned?"
"Why, no, indeed," said Kathleen; "what a funny idea!"
"Sometimes it seems funny to me too," Terence said, "but you see I
can't tell whether it is funny or not, because I know so little about
the people outside.
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