Walking along the snowy roads, the future propagandist grumbled. He hated snow, especially so heavy and wet, but when his “writer friend” and part-time colleague, a casual acquaintance in Berlin, ran past him, the man was covered in snow and Goebbels, exhaling, shook himself off and asked passively: aggressively, with a hint of irritation

“You born in 1895, and I in 1897, which means you are older.. so why can’t you demonstrate your seriousness at least once?