In January 2000, I accompanied my husband on a business trip to Paris. While he was in meetings, I wandered around the city. A bitter wind blew through the streets. I’d lived in the South Pacific for just a year, but my blood had already thinned. I took refuge in the Musée d’Orsay and the churches of St. Germain. One afternoon, I happened upon a postcard market at Les Halles. Thousands of hand-tinted vintage postcards were for sale. Despite my strong aversion to accumulation, I couldn’t resist buying a few. I chose them for the pictures. The words written upon them were simply an address or the words had faded into obscurity. Except for one.
Monday 30 December 1918
I’m sending you this card to give you my news which is excellent at the moment and I hope it’s the same for you. I’m leaving for Etingers next…
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