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At the appointed café on Leopoldstrasse, HF is waiting by the door, which he holds open for me. It is perfect weather for sitting out of doors, but he rejects the sidewalk tables. Inside it is dark…
[…]Uncle Herbert was right, part of the time they made them use toothbrushes, for a joke. They sloshed bucketfuls of ammonia and other stuff that burns the skin and stings the eyes over the street and…