Franz reached out and put his hand on Tannenbaum’s shoulder. “See you in the morning, Erich.”
Erich sighed, even his desolation all used up. “All right, then. See you in the morning, Franz.”
Franz tossed restlessly on the evergreen mattress. There was something else he still had to do before morning came, another kind of preparation for another set of circumstances. If he had been able to do this other thing at any time in the last three years, he would have done so, but the command to stop trying to write had not been one to trifle with. To have disobeyed would have been disloyal and moreover dangerous—perhaps as dangerous, almost, to her as to him.
But now the thing he weighed seemed to bear no hazard to anyone—or none beyond the end of wondering and worry. If he were in a position to
