He was on time. The fabric of his pocket had become stretched from the repetition of this impatient gesture; he spent every day counting the hours until his next meeting. Every crumb of information he’d managed to get was doubly exciting because every matter to report felt like a personal gift to SS-Hauptsturmführer Hertz. Hertz was satisfied with him, he could tell. He might even be invited to spend an evening at the theater at some point. He’d already prepared himself for that possibility by ordering a new suit from his tailor, instructing him that it should look like it came straight from Berlin.The buzz in the restaurant was the same as always: the Allgemeine-SS in black, the Wehrmacht in gray, long-legged, as always. Seeing veterans of the eastern front was like a needle in the eye. Edgar made himself look away from their eagles and swastikas. The stories of Stalingrad were unsuitable for women and children, and for Edgar.Hauptsturmführer Hertz waved and stood up.“Nice to see you again, Herr Fürst.
What do You think about When The Doves Disappeared?
