Page 92 - The Book Thief

Liesel sat there and took it.

Not more than a week after that particular incident, Rosa hauled her into the
kitchen. Right, Liesel. She sat her down at the table. Since you spend half your
time on the street playing soccer, you can make yourself useful out there. For a
change.

Liesel watched only her own hands. What is it, Mama?

From now on youre going to pick up and deliver the washing for me. Those rich
people are less likely to fire us if youre the one standing in front of them. If they
ask you where I am, tell them Im sick. And look sad when you tell them. Youre
skinny and pale enough to get their pity.

Herr Vogel didnt pity me.

Well . . . Her agitation was obvious. The others might. So dont argue.

Yes, Mama.

For a moment, it appeared that her foster mother would comfort her or pat her on
the shoulder.

Good girl, Liesel. Good girl. Pat, pat, pat.

She did no such thing.

Instead, Rosa Hubermann stood up, selected a wooden spoon, and held it under
Liesels nose. It was a necessity as far as she was concerned. When youre out on
that street, you take the bag to each place and you bring it straight home, with the

money, even though its next to nothing. No going to Papa if hes actually
working for once. No mucking around with that little Saukerl, Rudy Steiner.
Straight. Home.

Yes, Mama.

And when you hold that bag, you hold it properly. You dont swing it, drop it,
crease it, or throw it over your shoulder.