It’s a small story really, about, among other things: * A girl * Some words * An accordionist * Some fanatical Germans * A Jewish fist fighter * And quite a lot of thievery

He was waving. "Saukerl," she laughed, and as she held up her hand, she knew completely that he was simultaneously calling her a Saumensch. I think that's as close to love as eleven-year-olds can get.

Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you've finished just to stay near it.

Every time you find something that doesn't work, you're a step closer to what does work.

The silence was always the greates temptation.

Something I'd like to be perfect at? ... Loving you,' I said. The words climbed from my mouth. 'I'd want to be perfect at loving you.

One wild card was yet to be played.