'
Sylviana wept silently, recalling images of the Holocaust, set against
memories of German families she had known, so loving, nurturing, hard
working. 'How horrible.'
'Yes. As it's been said many times, we must learn from the
mistakes of history, or we're doomed to repeat them. We must all
realize what we're capable of, when we close our hearts, and allow
our minds to justify such brutal and inhuman acts. Or we DON'T learn,
until it's too late.' He gave a bitter sigh. 'Until it comes
to this.'
Needing perhaps some escape from the relentless intensity of these
truths, her eyes took in the map before her: the northern Atlantic. The
altered North American coast formed one boundary, the European the
other. She studied the latter quietly, not wanting to look too closely
at the plunder of her native America.
The European main did not at first look radically different, her eyes
readily identifying Italy, though the ‘boot' had been rounded off,
and Spain, similarly worn so that the strait of Gibraltar was now broad
enough to pass a small country through. But as her gaze continued
toward France and the Netherlands..... Something was missing. NO. It
couldn't be.
'Where are the British Isles?' The home of her deepest ancestors.
A last, disbelieving hope.
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