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Unformatted text preview: books. It was hot, but it was also wet, burned only at the edges, but otherwise unhurt.
It was blue.
The cover felt like it was woven with hundreds of tightly drawn strings and clamped down. Red letters were
pressed into those fibers. The only word Liesel had time to read was Shoulder. There wasn’t enough time for
the rest, and there was a problem. The smoke.
Smoke lifted from the cover as she juggled it and hurried away. Her head was pulled down, and the sick beauty
of nerves proved more ghastly with each stride. There were fourteen steps till the voice.
It propped itself up behind her.
That was when she nearly ran back and tossed the book onto the mound, but she was unable. The only
movement at her disposal was the act of turning.
“There are some things here that didn’t burn!” It was one of the cleanup men. He was not facing the girl, but
rather, the people standing by the town hall.
“Well, burn them again!” came the reply. “And watch them burn!”
“I think they’re wet!”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, do I have to do everything myself?” The sound of footsteps passed by. It was the
mayor, wearing a black coat over his Nazi uniform. He didn’t notice the girl who stood absolutely still only a
short distance away.
A statue of the book thief stood in the courtyard. . . .
It’s very rare, don’t you think, for a statue to appear
before its subject has become famous.
She sank. The thrill of being ignored!
The book felt cool enough now to slip inside her uniform. At first, it was nice and warm against her chest. As
she began walking, though, it began to heat up again.
By the time she made it back to Papa and Wolfgang Edel, the book was starting to burn her. It seemed to be
Both men looked at her.
Immediately, when the smile shrank from her lips, she could feel something else. Or more to the point, someone
else. There was no mistaking the watched feeling. It was all over her, and it was confirmed when she da...
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- Winter '13