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We took our passes to the mayor once more. He received us angrily. "I told you yesterday," he said. "The War Office sent us," said Jan, sweetly, "and said that you must give us bread." "I have no bread," said the mayor. "You must go to Colonel Milhaelovitch." We tramped back to the yellow school. There was no sentry, and a queer air of forlornness seemed to pervade.
A few Serb and Austrian doctors were left to guard and watch those too ill to go; with them some Swedish and Dutch sisters, and the Netherlands flag flying from the hospitals. Dr. Churchin seemed to have been the good genius of the Missions, never flagging in his efforts for them. We heard that a Colonel Milhaelovitch was the bread officer.
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