”“A bottle of whiskey would be good,” he said, “but they don’t sell that in the Christmas market. I could take you someplace where they sell...it cheap, special price but very good quality.”“I don’t think that’s quite what I had in mind,” I said, with a laugh. Like carrying coals to Newcastle, I thought. The boy would probably be taking me to one of Helmut Schwartzman’s hidden shops and selling me back product I’d had smuggled into the country myself.“Ah, something German, special to the holidays. — They closed the place down, drinking decaf lattes and talking – at first animatedly, then more and more quietly. As they drove back, she was oddly quiet. Then, just as they turned into the parking lot where she had left her car, she spoke softly: ‘Paul?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Do you really think I’m pretty?’ He glanced at her as he pulled his car in beside hers. She was looking at him starkly, her lovely, round face open, vulnerable, and a bit fearful- but her eyes were hooded and dark. He smiled. ‘I. More

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