Look Who's Back
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this?” “What fiancé? About what? Mein Führer!” Her Führer address still needed some practice. “Well, I suppose there’s a young man … there must be a young man … an admirer, let’s say.” “No,” Fräulein Krömeier said as she applied her lipstick. “There’s no-one.” “Well, I should not like to be indiscreet or insistent,” I reassured her. “But you can tell me. I mean, we’re not amongst Catholics here. I can see no objection if two young people like one another – why should a marriage certificate
me, selling papers over people’s heads. “Yes, by all means go over. Herr Hitler will be glad to sign for you.” In truth I do not particularly like signing my name. You never know what people will do with a signature. You can sign a piece of paper in all innocence, but the next day someone else will paste a declaration above it, and suddenly you find you have given away Transylvania to some corrupt Balkan entity. Or surrendered unconditionally, even though your bunkers are still full of weapons
a greyhound, tough as leather, hard as steel. Ring a bell?” He gave a tentative nod. “Then all is not lost,” I said, somewhat indulgently. “You may be afraid to talk. But all you have to do is use your head. Swift as a greyhound, tough as leather, hard as steel – would you say that these are advantageous qualities when pursuing one’s targets?” “I’d say they couldn’t hurt?” he said guardedly. “Well,” I asked. “Are you as swift as a greyhound? Are you as hard as steel?” “I …” “No you are not.
uniform. Werner, his name was, blonde and with impeccable manners. Even if it was clear that the lady found his uniform distasteful, her countenance also betrayed a certain appreciation of his physical assets. Women will always be women. Werner was one of Sawatzki’s ideas too. The general opinion amongst the ranks at Flashlight was that I needed an adjutant. “It’s important,” Sensenbrink had said. “It gives you someone else to interface with. If you’ve got a guest who’s dead wood, if a remark
bombshell. It must have been down to a decision taken by the N.S.D.A.P. in 1933 to increase further the party’s popularity amongst the Volk: we fixed the price of beer. Since then, other parties had evidently tried to secure their popularity by the same means. “How typical of these fools,” I blurted out. “Haven’t they raised the price of beer? These days ninety pfennigs for a litre is a joke!” “What do you mean, ‘ninety pfennigs’?” the chauffeur asked. “It’s nine euros a litre, mate! Ten if you