Page 49 - The Book Thief

When a woman with an iron fist tells you to get out there and clean spit off the
door, you do it. Especially when the irons hot.

It was all just part of the routine, really.

Each night, Liesel would step outside, wipe the door, and watch the sky. Usually
it was like spillagecold and heavy, slippery and graybut once in a while some
stars had the nerve to rise and float, if only for a few minutes. On those nights,
she would stay a little longer and wait.

Hello, stars.

Waiting.

For the voice from the kitchen.

Or till the stars were dragged down again, into the waters of the German sky.