A week later Oskar comes again. His face is thin and pinched and his eyes are bleared as from want of sleep, but his spirits are high, almost hysterical.
“Mona,” he says, “I know what we have to do.”
“What?”
“The English may be hard and unforgiving, but the Germans are not like that.”
“The Germans?”
“Oh, I know my people. They may fight like fiends and demons—they do, I know they do—but when the fighting is over they are willing to be friends with their enemies.”
“What are you thinking of now, Oskar?” says Mona, but she sees what is coming.
“If you were willing ... if you could only find it possible to go with me to Germany....”
“Germany?”