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- of the approaching return to normal life a feeling like that of blood returning to a frezen limb. I suppose it is natural, because I found that for myself the only way to make a success of camp life was to put all emotions and memories and plans and desires into cold storage, and to sink my individuality behind the label of no. 135, concentrating on how to make successful bricks of various kinds with practically no straw. So strangers or sign of affection from those I haven’t seen for all these years, I’m also filled with the most tremendous zest for life, and am not mentally exhausted as are these who have all along fought for their rights as individuals instead of sinking themselves into this limbe-like existence. But this isn’t the time either to give you a philosophical discourse not yet an autobiography of the past four years. My immediate plans are to go out to a hotel ($300000 a day… and I’m told that doesn’t include any food, but it does include bed bugs at night!!) and get clean, both by means of a bath…last one in April 1943…an by repacking from clothes all this time. My name is down for repatriation, but all details as to date or route are still unknown. What I want is to come across the Pacific, spend the winter in Victoria and if funds permit, a short stay in New York, and then to England in the early spring…that is what I’d like, but if there is no choice allowed one, rather than
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