Mama, Wladek's home.
Mother dashes out of the kitchen.
Thank God - Wladek! You're wounded.
It's a little cut, nothing.
I've been worried sick.
I told her not to worry. You had
your papers on you. If you'd been
hit by a bomb, they'd have known
where to take you.
Henryk, don't say things like that,
God forbid, God forbid.
(calling through a
Papa, Wladek's home.
What did I tell you?
(looking around the
What are you doing?
What's it look like we're doing?
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