Page 135 - The Book Thief

At first, she walked home dazed.

The surreal experience with the roomful of books and the stunned, broken
woman walked alongside her. She could see it on the buildings, like a play.
Perhaps it was similar to the way Papa had his Mein Kampf revelation. Wherever
she looked, Liesel saw the mayors wife with the books piled up in her arms.
Around corners, she could hear the shuffle of her own hands, disturbing the
shelves. She saw the open window, the chandelier of lovely light, and she saw
herself leaving, without so much as a word of thanks.

Soon, her sedated condition transformed to harassment and self-loathing. She
began to rebuke herself.

You said nothing. Her head shook vigorously, among the hurried footsteps. Not
a goodbye. Not a thank you. Not a thats the most beautiful sight Ive ever seen.
Nothing! Certainly, she was a book thief, but that didnt mean she should have no

manners at all. It didnt mean she couldnt be polite.

She walked a good few minutes, struggling with indecision.

On Munich Street, it came to an end.

Just as she could make out the sign that said STEINER SCHNEIDERMEISTER,
she turned and ran back.

This time, there was no hesitation.

She thumped the door, sending an echo of brass through the wood.

Scheisse!

It was not the mayors wife, but the mayor himself who stood before her. In her
hurry, Liesel had neglected to notice the car that sat out front, on the street.

Mustached and black-suited, the man spoke. Can I help you?

Liesel could say nothing. Not yet. She was bent over, short of air, and
fortunately, the woman arrived when shed at least partially recovered. Ilsa