Isar

Munich, on the Isar, is every day drifting into the beautiful, not to say aesthetical.

They had been dredged up in the Isar's mud, found at a corner, dragged from under a cartwheel.

The moon was above them, full and beautiful, and the Isar rapids were murmuring their far cry.

A woman can never be decided, so you may very well see the Isar soon again.

There, at her feet, the Isar rushed, and through the myriad murmur of its rapids his voice came back to her.