by Neal Bascomb
Few books have enthralled, incensed and haunted me as “The Volunteer” has done. There were times I felt compelled to set it aside. There were others when hours of reading passed in what felt like moments. I told myself that I couldn’t finish it—review be damned!—and yet hurried to the end. The actions of Witold Pilecki, and the superb account of them by Jack Fairweather, inevitably engendered an array of intense emotions.
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