"I Have Sung For You, He Said, His Voice Cracking With Pain. But Who Will Sing For Me? The Woman I Love... She Is Where You Are Now. If You Meet Her On The Road To Heaven, Tell Her That I Love Her. Tell Her That I'm Waiting For Her, And That I Want Nothing More Than To Cross That Gorge Scross Which I Have Sent You , And To See Her Shade For Myself! If She Will Forgive Me For Having Failed Her- Having Failed Out Peave!"

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For Mercier, it was the ceremony of the mass that eased his soul: the sweetish smoke trailing from the censer, the ringing of the bell, the Latin incantations of the priest. In Warsaw, he attended early mass, at a small church near the apartment, once or twice a month, confessing to his vocational sins – duplicity, for example – in the oblique forms provided by Catholic protocol. He'd grown up an untroubled believer, but the war had put an end to that. What God could permit such misery and slaughter? But, in time, he had found consolation in a God beyond understanding and prayed for those he'd lost, for those he loved, and for an end to evil in the world." ? Alan Furst, The Spies of Warsaw"
Author: Alan Furst