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My weekly contribution to David Abrams’ “Sunday Sentence” project in which participants share the best sentence read during the past week “out of context and without commentary.”

When he woke in Germany in late November of the year 1918, he was only a few centimeters away from becoming French on Clemenceau and Wilson’s redrawn map, a fact that mattered nothing compared to what there might be to eat.

SOURCE: Ojibwe writer Louise Erdrich‘s novel The Master Butchers Singing Club

 

 

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