IT was not until two years after the War had finished that I felt the inner compulsion to set down my experiences of it. Two years had to pass for me to recuperate from the horrors of those three‐and‐a‐half years. But it was not enough for me merely to write an account because, contrary to the opinion of some literary circles, I believe the value of an account lies in its form. The form creates the characters, and I regard these characters as having a symbolical meaning.
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