She was carrying a large bunch of rust-colored
chrysanthemums in the crook of her right arm, and when we had walked side by
side across the yard without a word and were standing in the doorway, she
raised her free hand and put the hair back from my forehead, as if she knew, in
this one gesture, that she had the gift of being remembered.
-
W. G. Sebald, Austerlitz
