The Book Thief - Markus Zusak

He was twenty four but he could still fantasize in

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Unformatted text preview: pa parked himself on the steps. Liesel lifted the first tufts of Max Vandenburg’s hair. As she cut the feathery strands, she wondered at the sound of scissors. Not the snipping noise, but the grinding of each metal arm as it cropped each group of fibers. When the job was done, a little severe in places, a little crooked in others, she walked upstairs with the hair in her hands and fed it into the stove. She lit a match and watched as the clump shriveled and sank, orange and red. Again, Max was in the doorway, this time at the top of the basement steps. “Thanks, Liesel.” His voice was tall and husky, with the sound in it of a hidden smile. No sooner had he spoken than he disappeared again, back into the ground. The Newspaper: Early May “There’s a Jew in my basement.” “There’s a Jew. In my basement.” Sitting on the floor of the mayor’s roomful of books, Liesel Meminger heard those words. A bag of washing was at her side and the ghostly figure of the mayor’s wife was sitting hunch-drunk over at the desk. In front of her, Liesel read The Whistler, pages twenty-two and twenty-three. She looked up. She imagined herself walking over, gently tearing some fluffy hair to the side, and whispering in the woman’s ear: “There’s a Jew in my basement.” As the book quivered in her lap, the secret sat in her mouth. It made itself comfortable. It crossed its legs. “I should be getting home.” This time, she actually spoke. Her hands were shaking. Despite a trace of sunshine in the distance, a gentle breeze rode through the open window, coupled with rain that came in like sawdust. When Liesel placed the book back into position, the woman’s chair stubbed the floor and she made her way over. It was always like this at the end. The gentle rings of sorrowful wrinkles swelled a moment as she reached across and retrieved the book. She offered it to the girl. Liesel shied away. “No,” she said, “thank you. I have enough books at home. Maybe another time. I’m rereading something els...
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This note was uploaded on 01/17/2014 for the course ENG 99 taught by Professor Michal during the Winter '13 term at CSU Sacramento.

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