15 AUGUST 1931, Page 11

And so I had my first rendezvous with death. .

. . and worse than death. Death, it is true, on this occasion only tapped me on the shoulder and hurried on. But some contagion remained from his passage. To this day, for instance, I rarely sleep a night without wakening in a cold sweat of terror . . . switching on the light, searching the floor for the bomb that is about to explode, or stretching up my arms towards the ceiling that is about to collapse on me, burying me in ruins.