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"Not only stray dogs can be human"--The Last Letter
Got up at 8:58.
Dreamed of returning to North America from Europe with an American; driving to the US; walking through a basement-level shopping mall-spa near Niagara Falls; my junior high school in Sackville.
Saw Satyajit Ray's The Expedition. Another wonderful movie. [It's about a Brahmin taxi driver defying local authorities.]
Stayed for Frederick Wiseman's stunning The Last Letter, a film of Catherine Samie's one-woman show of a Holocaust victim's last letter to her son, from a chapter in Vasily Grossman's Russian novel Life and Fate. A really good Russian-to-French translation job.
Dinner was spaghetti.
Finished Jane Eyre and started reading My Losing Season, Pat Conroy's memoir of his senior year on the Citadel military academy's basketball team, where they lost a majority of their games but he found himself. (It's rare for me to spurn Emerson's advice and read a book that's less than a year old.)
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