As we arrived, I looked at the heavy brass-knocker, the sun on the window and the curtains in my mother’s room, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Home at last! What a blessing it was to be at home again, to return to the brightness and peace of the family circle!
As I quickly opened the door and slipped inside, ready to shut it behind me, Frank Kromer forced his way in as well.
He stood beside me in the cool, dark stone corridor which was only lighted from the courtyard,
held me by the arm and said softly: “Not so fast, you!”
Terrified, I looked at him. His grip on my arm was one of iron. I tried to think what he had in his mind, whether he was going to maltreat me.
I wondered, if I should scream, whether anyone would come down quickly enough to save me.
But I gave up the idea. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “What d’you want?”
“Nothing much. I only want to ask you something—something the others needn’t hear.”
“Well, what do you want me to tell you? I must go upstairs, you know.”
“You know, don’t you, whose orchard that is by the mill on the corner?” said Frank softly.
No, I don’t know; I think it’s the miller’s.
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