"Not for many years," said Hans, thinking of his mother.
Gretchen deliberately rolled up her sleeves and began work.
There are three things which human growth never changes: the lines in the hand, the shape of the ear, and scars. The head grows, and the general features enlarge to their predestined mold, but these three things remain. Upon Gretchen's left arm, otherwise perfection, there was a white scar, rough and uneven, more like an ancient burn than anything else. Grumbach's eyes rested upon the scar and became fixed.
"Where did you get that?" he asked. He spoke with a strange calm.
"The scar? I do not remember. Grandmother says that when I was little I must have been burned."
"Gott!"
"What did you say, Herr?"
"Nothing. You can't remember? Think!" tensely now.
"What's all this nonsense about?" she cried, with a nervous laugh. "It's only a scar."
She went on with the kneading. She patted the dough into four squares. These she placed on the oven-stove. She wiped her hands on a cloth for that purpose, and sighed contentedly.