Page 261 - The Book Thief

She remembered the nights when shed wet the bed and Papa had washed the

sheets and taught her the letters of the alphabet. Now his breathing blew across
the blanket and she kissed his scratchy cheek.

You need a shave, she said.

Youre not going to hell, Papa replied.

For a few moments, she watched his face. Then she lay back down, leaned on
him, and together, they slept, very much in Munich, but somewhere on the
seventh side of Germanys die.