– Is it dead now? I whisper. I hunch down. – I think it is dead, you answer and bend over. I put the newspaper over it, pushing it slightly. – It is dead. I lift the bird, carrying it over to the garbage room. You follow, holding the door for me. I throw the dunlin in one of the grey binges. – Coffee? I ask, as I leave the room.
Bernhard Comes Knocking is a novel about hoping and waiting. About it never being to late. And that it suddenly might be to late after all.
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