She felt
like skipping but thought that perhaps she was a bit too old. Nothing could
spoil this day, though. Not even the huge swastika on the fence opposite.
The
house was oddly quiet when she got back: no wireless; her father was not
arguing loudly with the newspaper like he usually did; and Wilma was not
singing in the kitchen. She could hear her mother and father talking softly but
urgently in the dining room. The usual smell of strong black coffee and warm
bread greeted her as she went into the room, but the coffee cups were empty and
the rolls were still in the basket. Both of them jumped when they saw her. They
stared at her, then looked at each other and then back at her. Her mother
looked straight into her eyes and opened her mouth to say something. Her father
looked away. Then she noticed her mother’s lip wobbling as tears formed in her
already red eyes.
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