“Finally, in October 1945, a man with swampy eyes, feathers of hair, and a clean-shaven face walked into the shop. He approached the counter. “Is there someone here by the name of Leisel Meminger?”

"Yes, she’s in the back," said Alex. He was hopeful, but he wanted to be sure. "May I ask who is calling on her?"

Leisel came out.

They hugged and cried and fell to the floor.”