The world, in full gust, holds its breath. A bad wind has risen in China. It sweeps across Milan, Madrid, London, New York, Paris. After two weeks of confinement, the French, like other peoples, have settled into their new habits. It was necessary, if not to learn, at least to relearn to live. An unprecedented experience of a pandemic which, apart from a CIA report, had not seriously considered the occurrence.
Everyone crosses the test in their own way. Some suffer from loneliness, others from promiscuity; there is no state of grace. Neighbors help each other or denounce each other, lives are shattered or saved, families decompose, recompose. It is the human condition. Urban refugees in the countryside are rediscovering nature; others, leaning on their balconies, contemplate the deserted avenues without believing it. Who is the mysterious author of this catastrophic scenario? The wildest hypotheses run like rats. On the radio,
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