The day Hedwig arrived was a Monday, and that Mon-day morning, before my landlady slipped my father'sletter under the door, I wanted more than anything topull the covers up over my face, the way I often usedto do when I was still living at the apprentices' hostel.But out in the hall my landlady was calling: "There's aletter for you--from homel" And when she slipped theletter under the door and it slid snow-white into thegray shadow still rifling my room, I jumped out of bedwith a start, for instead of the usual round postmark I recognized the oval one of an express letter. In all the seven years I had been living alone here in the city, Father, who hated telegrams, had sent me only two such express letters: the first telling me about Mother's death, the second about his accident, when he broke both legs--and this was the third. I tore it open and was relieved to read: "Don't forget," wrote Father, "that Muller's daughter Hedwig, for whom you have
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