Status Updates From When Hitler Stole Pink Rabb...

There were people all round them. It was so damp that steam seemed to be rising from the ground and Anna's nostrils were filled with the smell of rubber from the mackintoshes which nearly all the English were wearing. At the end of the platform there was a slight holdup, but nobody pushed or jostled as was usual in France and Germany--everyone just waited their turn.

Soon they were sitting down to a real Christmas dinner. As well as the chicken there were roast potatoes and carrots, and apple flan with cream to follow. Mama was becoming quite a good cook. She had even made gingerbread hearts because they belonged to a proper German Christmas. There was something wrong with them and they had gone soggy instead of being hard and crisp, but they tasted quite nice just the same.

At breakfast there was no postcard from Mama and Papa.
"Why do you think it hasn't come?" she asked Max.
"Postal delay," said Max indistinctly through a mouthful of bread. "'Bye!" and he rushed to catch his train.
"I daresay it'll come this afternoon," said Herr Zwirn.
But she worried about it all day at school and sat chewing her pencil instead of writing a description of the sunrise in the mountains.