Elizabeth Shepley Sergeant

MARCH 9th: Last night we had our second big air raid. As soon as the sharp sound of the explosions had died away—before the French cannonading had stopped and well before the berloque announced the end—I stuck my head out of my window. Utter blackness, blackness impenetrable, blackness that denied the very possibility of light, yet through it, on the street below, was already traveling something warm and vibrant and human: the Paris crowd. It was as if a river, obstructed for a moment, had found its normal course again.

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