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How to listen for the unsaid

We were both listening for the unsaid, the nearly said and the accidentally said. We were both patient and analyst at the same time

By Anna Blundy   January 2016

Two people take a walk through the snow.

Two people take a walk through the snow.

A wintry walk. Two black Labradors—one seven years old with an arthritic elbow and a grey beard, the other seven months old, lanky, pantheresque, fluid. A psychoanalyst friend of mine—tweed jacket, walking boots, solidly built, open face. Me, in my dad’s old leather jacket, trying to manage the dogs in a bluster of leaves, dishevelled hair and… is that actually a snowflake?

It ought to be odd stomping around talking about Freud, but it’s Hampstead Heath, so most of the huddled couples straining against…

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