This was because Momo owned nothing apart from what she had found lying around or had been given.
Her ankle-length dress was a mass of patches of different colours,
and over it she wore a man's jacket, also far too big for her, with the sleeves turned up at the wrist.
Momo had decided against cutting them off because she wisely reflected that she was still growing,
and goodness only knew if she would ever find another jacket as useful as this one, with all its many pockets.
Beneath the grassy stage of the ruined amphitheater, half choked with rubble, were some underground chambers
which could be reached by way of a hole in the outer wall, and this was where Momo had set up house.
One afternoon, a group of men and women from the neighbourhood turned up and tried to question her.
Momo eyed them apprehensively, fearing that they had come to chase her away, but she soon saw that they meant well.
Being poor like herself, they knew how hard life could be.
“So,” said one of the men, “you like it here, do you?” Momo nodded. “And you want to stay here?” “Yes, very much.”
“Won't you be missed, though?” “No.” “I mean, shouldn't you go home?” “This is my home,” Momo said promptly.
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