Now, Hannah couldn’t even remember how she’d met Deveraux. A friend of a friend of a friend, perhaps. The woman had seemed so glamorous, so cynical, so worldly. Her insults directed toward the Nazis were neither veiled nor subtle. She had been up-front about the fact that she was going to use them to fund her visit to Germany, but she wasn’t on their side. In 1933, that had seemed like an understandable bargain.
