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Updated: June 6, 2025


She quite shouted at the girl as she said: "Do you know where my son is Wolfgang Wolfgang Schlieben?" Frida's rosy face turned white in her surprise. She wanted to say something, stammered, hesitated, bit her lips and got scarlet. "How should I know? I don't know." "You know very well. Don't tell a lie." Käte seized hold of Frida violently by both her slender arms.

It might be too cold for the child on the way back. Rugs and cloaks and shawls were packed in it, quite a large choice. Paul Schlieben had taken his papers with him. They would hardly be likely to want any proof of his identity, but he stuck them into his pocket as a precaution, so as to provide against any delay that might be caused by their absence.

She stretched out her hand gropingly, helplessly thank God, there was her husband! He was still there. And now she heard him speak. "What makes you ask that question?" said Paul Schlieben. "Our son of course. Whose child could you be otherwise?" "I don't know. That's just what I want to know from you," the boy went on in his hard voice.

Wolfgang did not mind the scoldings he got, he had no ambition to become head of his form. He laughed at the master, and could not even get himself to lower his head and look sad when his mother waved a bad report in his face in her nervous excitement: "So that's all one gets in return for all one's worry?" How ambitious women are! Paul Schlieben smiled; he took it more calmly.

Their big eyes were only interested in the bread on the table. Paul Schlieben pitied the little ones greatly they would remain there in their wretchedness, their hunger, their poverty. He stuck a present into the hands of all four. None of the four thanked him for it, but their small fingers clasped the money tightly. The woman did not thank him either.

Formerly Paul Schlieben had always detested leaving his house and garden on such days, when the Grunewald was overrun with people. He had always disliked swallowing the dust the crowd raised. But now he was broader-minded.

Because these fetters had dropped off which I had never justly borne. Evening came, and with it Count Schlieben, a waggon, and four post-horses. After an affecting farewell, we departed. I shed tears at leaving Magdeburg. It seems strange that I lived here ten years, yet never saw the town.

Paul Schlieben did not hear any complaints of his son; the whole staff, men who had been ten, twenty years with the firm, all well-oiled machines that worked irreproachably, hung round the young fellow: he was their future chief. Everything worked smoothly. Both father and mother were complimented on their son. "A splendid fellow. What life there is in him."

When Frida came home that evening extremely late the house had been closed long before; Frau Lämke had already begun to get nervous, and did not know how she should keep the roast potatoes warm she threw her arms round her mother's neck: "Mother, mummy, don't scold." And then it came out with a rush, that she had met Wolfgang: "Wolfgang Schlieben, you know.

And he is a rampageous fellow and after what he went through as a child, you know hm, one can never tell if his heart will hold out." "Why not?" Schlieben had asked in surprise. "So you look upon him as ill?" "No, certainly not." The doctor had grown quite angry: at once this exaggeration! "Who says anything about 'ill'? All the same, the lad must not do everything in a rush.

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