Saint Margaret of Cortona

Saint Margaret of Cortona

Saint Margaret of Cortona

Saint Margaret of Cortona

Excerpt

Saint Margaret of Cortona, she who has become so dear to me to-day, did not obtrude herself upon me. I had no wish to write a saint's life, especially hers, which I knew nothing about. I had no desire to write anything. The whole earth was covered with darkness. Was it in '41, in '42, in '43? Time no longer seemed divided; all of those winters formed nothing more than a black and frozen block in our minds. We lived them at Malagar in the womb of a monotonous horror. There was a German in every room. An enemy accordion groaned near the kitchen. Whether it was sunny or whether the rain streamed against the panes, the landscape was hopeless.

All the same, it was necessary to write. One could not live on air only, nor on the outrages of a press that was drunk with rage. A Jesuit Father from Lyons claimed that it was I who was responsible for losing the war and that the . . .

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