‘Oh, Dortchen,’ Wilhelm said. ‘I think of you night and day. This is torture. If only we could marry.’‘My father would never permit it.’‘If I had a job? If I could support you?’‘Surely then …’ She spoke doubtfully.‘If our book of old tales was a success …’‘It is to be published? You’ve heard?’‘No. Not yet. I hope it will. Surely it will. Such wonderful stories.’Dortchen cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Herr Wild was sitting on a park bench, staring at her, his thick brows lowered dangerously. ‘We could run away,’ she whispered. Wilhelm looked at her in surprise. ‘Where could we go? What could we do?’‘I can cook and clean and sew, and I can work with my hands as well as any farm labourer,’ she said. ‘Surely we could find work?’He shrugged his thin shoulders and spread his hands. ‘Who would hire me?’ he said simply. ‘I get out of breath just climbing the stairs to our apartment every day.’‘Then let us marry now. I can come and live with you all.
