I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death…
Though he flick my shoulders with his whip, I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.
Conscientious Objector, by Edna St. Vincent Millay
It’s hard not to love the French in general and it’s actually quite impossible for me. I realized I wasn’t going to win this one the first time I saw a McDonald’s on the Champs-Élysées and felt like I’d just been stabbed. Or being moved to tears by Edith Piaf singing La Marseillaise (which is how I learned to roll my “r” in French, or try to). Too late, I thought, they’ve really got…
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