I'm done--I'm through with the very name....

Listen to the last words I'll ever speak to you in German--the last! _To hell with Germany_!" Then Kurt plunged, blind in his passion, out of the door into the night.
And as he went he heard his father cry out, brokenly: "My son! Oh, my son!" The night was dark and cool.

A faint wind blew across the hills, and it was dry, redolent, sweet.

The sky seemed an endless curving canopy of dark blue blazing with myriads of stars.
Kurt staggered out of the yard, down along the edge of a wheat-field, to one of the straw-stacks, and there he flung himself down in an agony.
"Oh, I'm ruined--ruined!" he moaned.

"The break--has come!...