get rid of all that fur? It’s everywhere!” Helena Schmidt was a rich widow. “That old cripple—sitting there just wasting away. She’s never had to do a day’s work in all her life.” Rosa’s greatest disdain, however, was reserved for 8 Grande Strasse. A large house, high on a hill, in the upper part of […]
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She’d heard it several times in the past few years. “Communist.” There were boardinghouses crammed with people, rooms filled with questions. And that word. That strange word was always there somewhere, standing in the corner, watching from the dark. It wore suits, uniforms. No matter where they went, there it was, each time her father
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### The Morning After: A Study in Literary RivalsThere were no more nights on our separate decks. On Sunday, Gus arrived at my house looking like a victim of a trash compactor—spit back out halfway through. I felt every bit as rough as he looked. We collapsed onto the chaise lounges on the deck, lying