The crowd panicked and scattered before finally settling down.
When Old Mrs. Sherwood rushed over, she found Jasper Sherwood clutching his hair and leaning dejectedly against the wall. She was still carrying a takeout container from the cafeteria. "What happened to Holly? Huh?"
Jasper Sherwood kept his head down and said nothing.
Old Mrs. Sherwood looked around frantically, her voice thick with tears. "Tell me! Where's Holly? Where is she?"
Jasper Sherwood finally looked up at her. Old Mrs. Sherwood was over seventy, her face etched with wrinkles and her hair streaked with gray. Her frame was frail and gaunt. She was wearing an old, cotton-padded jacket she had bought from a street stall for fifty yuan several years ago. She'd worn it for years, unable to bring herself to buy a new one.
But Heather Sherwood got new clothes every year.
