A
look at the boy's face decided him.
"I'll come," he said, and turned his pick over to a man beside him.
He joined Graham, and for a moment he looked into the boy's eyes.
Then he put a hand on his shoulder, and together they walked out,
past the line of ambulances, into a street where the scattered
houses showed not a single unshattered window, and the pavements
were littered with glass.
His father's touch comforted the boy, but it made even harder the
thing he had to do. For he could not go through life with this
thing on his soul. There had been a moment, after he learned of
Herman's implication, when he felt the best thing would be to kill
himself, but he had put that aside. It was too easy. If Herman
Klein had done this thing because of Anna and himself, then he was
a murderer. If he had done it because he was a German, then he
- Graham - had no right to die. He would live to make as many
Germans as possible pay for this night's work.
"I've got something to tell you, father," he said, as they paused
before the house where the coffee was ready.
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