Liesel wonders if other people have broken into the bookshop, and even if he's trying to make her feel better, she still feels guilty. Maybe she's not the only book thief in this city, and the thought makes her bristle a little. Rudy had called her a saumensch for only ever stealing books, but it's her thing, her escape.

He fetches a broom and Liesel watches, socked feet rooted to the floor. Mama would demand she clean it all up herself and probably spank her with the broom handle for her trouble. It's habit that makes her move eventually, taking the dustpan from him and crouching down on the floor.

"My Papa taught me to read," she says, as though that explains everything. Maybe it doesn't, entirely; Liesel stole books before she met Papa, and she treasured them even when she couldn't read them yet. But it's Papa who made it something special, who taught her to sound out the words and paint up the ones she didn't know on the basement wall. Liesel sweeps bits of glass into the dustpan, seeing glints of Papa's silver eyes in the shattered window.