George was too surprised to even attempt a reply. He evidently didn't know what to say or do. To avoid my eyes that were seeking his, he turned his back on me and stepped up to a little table laden with books. He studied the titles for a while, then, turning suddenly, held a small volume towards me. His arm was out-stretched as if he feared to contaminate his uniform.
"What have we got here?" he cried.
It was my turn to be astonished. "Why, according to the binding, it must be Heine's Atta Troll."
"Atta Troll," cried George, and opening the book at random he read half to himself:
"This bear-leader six Madonnas
Wears upon his pointed hat,
To protect his head from bullets
Or from lice, perchance, it may be."
He fired the volume on the floor and grabbed another. "What's this?"
"As the title will indicate to your Royal Highness, Nietzsche's Zarathustra." For the life of me I couldn't see any harm in this portion of my library.
George continued to rummage among the books. He acted like a madman. "What's this, what's this?" he kept on saying, turning them over and over. I thought it beneath my dignity to answer. I just stared at the fanatic.
After he finished his hurried examination, he took one book after the other and tossed it violently at my feet.
"Heine, the Jew-scribbler," he cried, aiming a kick at Atta Troll.