To make sure that I should forget nothing, he drew the family photographs from under his pillow, and handed them over: the little witch-grandmother, with a face like a withered walnut, the father, a fine broken-looking old boy with a Roman nose and a weak chin, the mother, in crape, simple, serious and provincial, the little sister ditto, and Alain, the young brother just the age the brutes have been carrying off to German prisons an over-grown thread-paper boy with too much forehead and eyes, and not a muscle in his body.