By Ivan Roussetzki & Don Gabor

Now available in ebook and print editions

Death came suddenly on a cool Saturday afternoon. The murderer turned away as my soul slowly left my body, like so many red rose petals adrift on the wind. The killer was a young man in a long coat and a broad-rimmed hat that looked like a miniature lid to a black coffin. He approached me silently in the crowd. For a brief moment the coffin lid opened, and his boiling red eyes stared into mine. Then his swift knife pierced me twice. I died almost instantly following a singular, unheeded plea for mercy. Long before my death, however, it was the second winter of the Second World War…

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