“Förste was still sitting in his cell in the same place. He dared not move from the spot. There was no way out for him any more, and no rescue. With deep sadness in his heart he had to admit that the years of existing like a ghost in the bunker had not hardened him and that he was anything but a fighter. Yet he still had one satisfaction: he had remained a decent person, and with modest joy he thought of the good he had done for Höfel and Kropinski, who were now going to die with him. In his death he would become one of the great host that was without name or number, humus soil out of which some day a finer world would flower. Perhaps there was the meaning he was looking for. When the camp gate was blown up, that soul would already have claimed him. . . .” SadHolocaustHolocaust Literature Book:Nackt unter Wölfen Source: Nackt unter Wölfen