Friday, December 2, 2011

From "The Metamophosis of Peter Brooke" (Julian MacLaren-Ross)

Even the steady thunder of bomber planes on the way to Germany overhead failed to wake him, but before dawn he had a fight with himself in his sleep.  I watched from my ringside seat:  himself seemed about to win but just in time he knocked himself out.  I counted ten but he lay stiff and silent, not even snoring now; and in the morning we were roused by the ringing telephone.  It was my girlfriend to say that Germany had surrendered, which places this meeting in early May 1945.

No comments:

Post a Comment