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朗读者3 I DIDN’T KNOW the woman’s name. Clutching my bunch of flowers, I hesitated in front of the door and all the bells. I would rather have turned around and left, but then a man came out of the building, asked who I was looking for, and directed me to Frau Schmitz on the third floor. No decorative plaster, no mirrors, no runner. Whatever unpretentious beauty the stairwell might once have had, it could never have been comparable to the grandeur of the fa?ade, and it was long gone in any case. The red paint on the stairs had worn through in the middle, the stamped green linoleum that was g