Diary
Michael Ignatieff: Canadian Elections, 1 November 1984
“... had flown into a fence in a snowstorm, clipped his wing and hobbled into the farmyard. He wore his white speckled plumage like a wounded warrior’s greatcoat and his fierce yellow eyes in the corner of the shed seemed to burn a hole in the dark. When we went out for a walk before bed, the temperature was 35 degrees below zero. The sky was clear and blue in ... ”