The man’s hand flashed out, but immediately afterwards an oath and a cry of pain broke from his lips. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. Then instinct took over. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. ‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes. We shall take an eternal farewell of each other.
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