After several seconds, she gave me a slightly crooked smile and spoke to me again in German.“You knew Frau Schmidt well enough to call her Mutti Fri...a – so you were close to her?”“Yes.” I looked her in the eye. “And to her daughter.”“I see.” She paused, raising an eyebrow. “You knew Colette was not a boy then.” It was a statement not a question, so I remained silent. The lady studied me across the table. Long seconds dragged past. Finally, she leant back in her chair, distancing herself from me. The drink didn’t seem to make her giddy. In fact, she was still nervous when she and George left the table.“I love you, you know,” George said when they were outside her room.“I love you, too.” She wondered if that were still true. Well, they were married, and it was too late for second thoughts.Dorcas helped her to change in a room with many wardrobes but no bed. She went into the bedroom, and Dorcas helped her into bed.A few minutes later, George came in wearing nightshirt and robe. He hung. More

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