All was silent and still on Sandstrasse. From time to time a car growled, and once in a while sleigh bells tinkled. Even the screeching of the last trams gliding towards Neumarkt and the Post Office was muffled by the soft filter laid down by the blizzard. The windows of the Norbertan monastery glowed with friendly warmth. Mock watched all this from a window in the old Augustinian monastery on Sandinsel, where the University Library was located, and his mood was far from the joyous, festive expectation that seemed to dazzle the entire city. He was not interested in either Sand-brücke or Matthiasgymnasium, or the Museum of Mineralogy. He was interested in the windows, ablaze with Christmas trees, of the poor tenements huddled around the perimeter of Ritterplatz, where a work-worn father, waiting for his dinner, was putting aside his pipe of smoking, cheap tobacco to bounce the children sitting on his knees and yelling joyfully. Their wild cries did not annoy either father or mother who, with an apron tied around her waist, was standing a pot of her husband’s soup on a hot stove – day after day the same barley soup with smoked bacon.
What do You think about The End Of The World In Breslau?
