Note: I have an old black-cover, large format notebook whose entries date from the time when I was collecting material on Herschel Grynszpan. The first entry therein is dated March 5, 1981. All manner of notes, correspondence, clippings, xeroxes, and quotations are haphazardly collected therein. One quotation has particularly stuck in my memory over the years. It’s a passage, as I recall, drawn from a letter sent by husband Sinclair Lewis to wife Dorothy Thompson. I chanced upon it in Marion K. Sanders’ book, Dorothy Thompson: A Legend in Her Time (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1973). Don’t ask me why this passage resonated so for me. I know, though.
You have continued to declare that you veritably love me, that no one else so greatly cherishes me, even while by a thousand omissions you demonstrate that your attitude toward me is not love nor even a very lively affection, but rather a mixture of nostalgia, amusement at such humor as I may have, admiration of me as a workman, and above all, hurt pride… (Sanders, ibid., p. 279)