I don't know where I picked this book up, but it has been sitting on my shelf for so long that its providence has been lost to the annals of time. But I remember, at some point, thinking it looked interesting and taking it home.

It was interesting.

But.

But, I wanted it to be more. This read like an historical account, which is what it was, but the front cover of this book calls it "A Love Story, Berlin 1943". It was a story about love, but I wouldn't necessarily call this a love story. There are very few emotions in it. I expected to feel a lot about both these ladies who fell in love against insane odds, but I really felt not much more that interest. I liked this book, but I didn't feel much. Which disappointed me a bit.