As I stood in the room looking at it for the last time, I felt again the cold metal of the handcuffs on my wrists and remembered the physical suffering and mental anguish I had endured while fighting with all the will power and intellect God had given me for that rare and elusive thing in a Communist country called justice. |
WEDS: A Writer's Wit | Anton Chekhov
THURS: A Writer's Wit | Shirley Hazzard
FRI: My Book World | Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones