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第七十四章: 第九十八天 The Ninety-eighth Day | 偷书贼
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For the first ninety-seven days after Hans Hubermann's return in April 1943, everything was fine. On many occasions he was pensive about the thought of his son fighting in Stalingrad, but he hoped that some of his luck was in the boy's blood.
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On his third night at home, he played the accordion in the kitchen. A promise was a promise. There was music, soup, and jokes, and the laughter of a fourteen-year-old girl.
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"Saumensch," Mama warned her, "stop laughing so loud. His jokes aren't that funny. And they're filthy, too…"
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第七十四章: 第九十八天 The Ninety-eighth Day
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