THE GREEN KING (part 36)
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The Photographer
from Salzburg
At Payerbach,
he got off the wagon, whichwas drawn by a single horse. The peasant wasn’t
going any farther. Reb nodded his head, smiling.
‘Thank you so
much. And I hope your grandson will return home soon. I am sure that he will
come home.
‘May God hear
you, my boy,’ answered the old man.
Reb went along
the winding road. Straight ahead of him and to his right were peaks more than
sixty-five hundred feet high. He was no longer wearing the clothes and shoes of
the British general; he had sold them and, in exchange, besides a little money,
had obtained a blue shirt and pants that almost fit him, as did the heavy,
laced-up walking boots, one of which, the right one was ripped several inches
above the toe.
He arrived in
Reichenau in the late morning of June 23. In Vienna, at down, he had been able
to get a ride in a Jeep, which had left him on the square by the cathedral of
Wiener Neustadt, where the war had left impressive traces. The peasant with the
wagon had picked him up two and a half miles outside. Neukirchen, while he was
walking along on bloodied feet.
TO BE CONTINUED
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I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
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