Читать книгу In the Mouth of the Wolf - Michael Morpurgo - Страница 14

knowing you. I stopped knowing you, even stopped

loving you for a while. Home was a foreign land to me.

You were busy becoming Emile Cammaerts, travelling up

to London every day, the great professor and poet.

There were no more family holidays in the Ardennes,

no more walks and talks in the forest, just you and me.

There was civil war raging in Spain, Hitler’s bombs

were falling on Guernica, on families, on old and young

alike. And in Germany and in Italy, fascists were on

the move. The world was resounding to the march of

jackboots, the drums of war were beating.