rman women would do.

All English papers were very strictly forbidden, but a few got in
nevertheless by runners from Ostend. At the beginning of the German
occupation the _Times_ could be obtained for a franc. Later it rose to 3
francs then 5, then 9, then 15 francs. Then with a sudden leap it
reached 23 francs on one day. That was the high-water mark, for it came
down after that. The _Times_ was too expensive for the likes of me. I
used to content myself with the _Flandres Liberale_, a half-penny paper
published then in Ghent and sold in Brussels for a franc or more
according to the difficulty in getting it in. These papers used to be
wrapped up very tight and small and smuggled into Brussels in a basket
of fruit or a cart full of dirty washing. They could not of course be
bought in the shops, and the Germans kept a very keen look-out for them.
We used to get them nevertheless almost every day in spite of them.

The mode of procedure was this: When it was getting dusk you sauntered
out to take a turn in the fresh air. You strolled through a certain
square where there were men selling picture post-cards, etc. You
selected a likely looking man and went up and looked over his cards,
saying under your breath "_Journal Anglais?_" or "_Flandres Liberale?_"
which ever it happened to be. Generally you were right, but occasionally
the man looked at you with a blank stare and you knew you had made a bad
shot, and if perchance he had happened to be a spy, your lot would not
have been a happy one. But usually you received a whispered "Oui,
madame," in reply, and then you loudly asked the way to somewhere, and
the man would conduct you up a side street, pointing the way with his
finger. When no one was looking he slipped a tiny folded parcel into
your hand, you slipped a coin into his, and the ceremony was over. But
it was not safe to read your treasure at a front window or anywhere
where you might be overlooked.

Sometimes these newspaper-sellers grew bold and transacted this business
too openly and then there was trouble. One evening some of the nurses
were at Benediction at the Carmelite Church, when a wretched newspaper
lad rushed into the church and hid himself in a Confessional. He was
followed by four or five German soldiers. They stopped the service and
forbade any of the congregation to leave, and searched the church till
they found the white and trembling boy, and dragged him off to his fate.
We heard afterwards that a