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She must have said it a hundred times as she hugged him in the kitchen and wouldn’t let go.
Later, after they ate, they sat at the kitchen table long into the night and Hans told his wife and Liesel Meminger
everything. He explained the LSE and the smoke-filled streets and the poor, lost, wandering souls. And
Reinhold Zucker. Poor, stupid Reinhold Zucker. It took hours.
At 1 a.m., Liesel went to bed and Papa came in to sit with her, like he used to. She woke up several times to
check that he was there, and he did not fail her.
The night was calm.
Her bed was warm and soft with contentment.
Yes, it was a great night to be Liesel Meminger, and the calm, the warm, and the soft would remain for
approximately three more months.
But her story lasts for six. PART TEN
the book thief
the end of a world—the ninety-eighth day—
a war maker—way of the words—a catatonic girl—
confessions—ilsa hermann’s little black book—
some rib-cage planes—and a mountain range of rubble THE END OF THE WORLD (Part I)
Again, I offer you a glimpse of the end. Perhaps it’s to soften the blow for later, or to better prepare myself for
the telling. Either way, I must inform you that it was raining on Himmel Street when the world ended for Liesel
The sky was dripping.
Like a tap that a child has tried its hardest to turn off but hasn’t quite managed. The first drops were cool. I felt
them on my hands as I stood outside Frau Diller’s.
Above me, I could hear them.
Through the overcast sky, I looked up and saw the tin-can planes. I watched their stomachs open and the bombs
drop casually out. They were off target, of course. They were often off target.
A SMALL, SAD HOPE
No one wanted to
bomb Himmel Street.
No one would bomb a
place named after
heaven, would they?
The bombs came down, and soon, the clouds would bake and the cold raindrops would turn to ash. Hot
snowflakes would shower to the ground.
In short, Himmel Street was...
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- Winter '13