Maria Shomeen sits on a light blue mattress and adjusts the folds in her skirt. Around her, straining to speak, are blue-eyed girls and sullen teenage boys. The mother of three from Baalbek in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley has spent the last eight days living with four other families in a two-bedroom flat in south Damascus.
"It's something we couldn't imagine, leaving our homes and our jobs," says the 43-year-old. "The Israelis destroyed whole buildings. They are not targeting Hizbullah - they're attacking civilians." She left her husband and most of the men from her extended family and took the dangerous road to the Syrian capital, where she stayed with relatives until a dentist living in the neighbourhood offered to house them in his holiday flat.
Syria's government has responded to the crisis in Lebanon with surprising speed, relaxing border controls on the same day Israeli missiles first hit Beirut. Schools, sports stadiums and university campuses have been used to house Lebanese refugees, now estimated by the state news agency at more than 100,000.
It starts at the border. Red Crescent volunteers - including some westerners who speak little Arabic - stand in the no man's land between the countries, handing out bottles of water and cartons of juice to the queues of packed cars that stretch far into Lebanon. Medical teams are stationed nearby to offer first aid.
The Red Crescent is giving out telephone numbers of Syrian families willing to host refugees, and most who don't have relatives make their way to Damascus.
At the Massoud Safaya primary school in Jeramana, 14km south of the capital, classrooms have been emptied of chairs and now house about 125 Lebanese, one family to a room.
The government is providing food, electricity and an on-site medical clinic, but Red Crescent volunteers administer the centre.
"Some families have been here since the start of the attacks," says Khaldoun Afoof, a 30-year old lawyer who has taken leave from his work to volunteer. "But usually they stay a day and then find a family to take them in." The most surprising element of the assistance is how decentralised it is. Syrians are opening their homes to strangers to stay indefinitely and volunteering their time, clothes and food. Companies are donating food, not just to government-approved NGOs but to sports stadiums where refugees have congregated.
"We've had strangers telling us to come and stay with them," says Maria Shomeen. "Even before this, we felt sure that Syria would help us, so we came."