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it was foolhardy; an invitation to death. Nothing he’d said had changed her mind. She’d made her decision.
    In the end, when Alfred had realized that she wouldn’t stay and she’d promised again and again to be careful, he’d relented. Julia had said that Gretchen should change her appearance as much as possible, and colored her honey-blond hair brown with Cook’s hair dye. While the strands were still wet, she had cut them into a bob hairstyle that barely reached Gretchen’s ears. Gretchen had watched her transformation in the mirror without a word. Between the pink powder on her cheeks and the sleek capof brown hair, she looked like a flapper: modern and daring, so unlike the proper National Socialist girl she had once been.
    There were some things, though, that couldn’t be changed: the shape of her face, the color of her eyes, the curve of her mouth. Hitler would still recognize her. Of that, she had no doubt. Over the years, he’d watched her grow and change, and he had a photographic memory. No amount of time or cosmetics would confuse him. Just as she would recognize him, regardless of how much he might alter his appearance. He could change the cut of his hair, shave off his smudge of a mustache, gain one hundred pounds. It didn’t matter. She would always know the brilliant blue of his eyes.
    At last, she’d stood in the front hall, clutching a suitcase, while the boys trooped in to say good-bye. As she had hugged them, Gretchen felt their small bodies shaking from sobs. She hadn’t been able to keep hers back anymore. This family, with their questions about her day over supper, their smiles when she earned good marks, their laughter when she and the boys chased one another in the garden—this family was exactly what she had once thought she couldn’t have. Saying good-bye to them felt as though she were ripping away a piece of herself.
    In the seat beside hers, Alfred cleared his throat. “Julia and I want you to have this.” He nodded at the leather wallet lying between them. “It’s five hundred pounds. We’ve been saving it for you, to go toward your university schooling and setting up your own psychoanalytical practice someday. It should cover your expenses.”
    Five hundred pounds—it was more money than she’d ever seen in her life. And these people, who had no obligations towardher, no ties beyond simple affection, wanted to give it to her. Tears burned her eyes, and although she opened her mouth, she couldn’t say a word. Alfred seemed to understand, for he smiled a little. “All we ask is that you come back to us. We couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
    The lump in her throat hardened into a rock and she whispered, “Thank you.”
    At the train station, the platform was crowded with university students heading to London for an evening out, and tired-looking mothers with small children, eager to get to their country homes after a long day shopping in the city.
    As a train whistle screamed in the distance, Alfred clasped Gretchen’s hand. “You’ll need to be strong,” he said. “Going back won’t be easy on you, and I don’t mean only the physical danger.”
    She raised her chin, pretending a confidence she didn’t feel. “I’m fine,” she lied.
    Alfred raised his eyebrows. “I’m afraid,” he said quietly, “that if you return to Munich, you’ll have to cope with memories that you aren’t yet ready to relive. You’ve undergone significant emotional trauma. Having to confront it again may be more than you can bear. I wish you would stay. But I know you won’t.”
    As the crowd swelled around them, jostling them closer together, Alfred gripped her hand tighter. “Remember everything I’ve taught you about psychology. Use it to anticipate how others might act. It could be your best protection.”
    “I promise.” She wished she knew how to thank him for everything he had done.
    There was so much pain in his face. He wouldn’t kiss her, she