The work filled his time but not his mind.
The years there were marked by drought or great rain, vintage, weather, harvest, rather than by the events of history.
Summers were long and hot, and thunderstorms roamed growling among the mountains.
It was a dramatic but not a harsh climate.
The magic of names still held minds enchanted.
He stayed out alone, and did not know what to do.
“It must be, it must be,” he repeated with conviction, joy, and fear.
Of the city he knew nothing.
Was it possible that a new life was going to begin?
I’ve got to think. I’ve got to eat something. Come on.
How did they know it was me?
Please control yourself and listen.
You have no right to ask more of me.
Do you want to break my heart?
What curious ways people have of passing their time, to be sure.
Gone Fishin’
La mer, l’immensité qui se regroupe, s’éloigne, revient.
Les ombres sont régulièrement striées par les raies des persiennes.
Ces foules sont toujours énormes.
Le bruit de la ville est très fort.
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