"Is that it, little girl?
You're from Denmark?
Denmark!" She nodded.
"Kobenhavn--Danmark!" "Copenhagen, Denmark," he translated for himself.

"Great Scott, Celie--we're TALKING! Celie Armin, from Copenhagen, Denmark! But how in Heaven's name did you get HERE ?" He pointed to the floor under their feet and embraced the four walls of the cabin in a wide gesture of his arms.

"How did you get HERE ?" Her next words thrilled him.
"Kobenhavn--Muskvas--St.Petersburg--Rusland--Sibirien--Amerika." "Copenhagen--Muskvas, whatever that is--St.
Petersburg--Russia--Siberia--America," he repeated, staring at her incredulously.

"Celie, if you love me, be reasonable! Do you expect me to believe that you came all the way from Denmark to this God-forsaken madman's cabin in the heart of the Canada Barrens by way of Russia and Siberia?
YOU! I can't believe it.

There's a mistake somewhere.