Paris, December, 1943 December in Brittany is bitterly cold and damp. The days get dark early, the sky is continually overcast, and the wind whips the sea into rough, choppy waves, bent on dashing the small fishing boats against the cliffs. Even those who are lucky enough to stay… Read more »
Madame and Monsieur LeBrun are in very good health for their age. Indeed, the nice young lady doctor at their local clinic would probably be surprised if she knew just how old they were. Still, old age comes with certain discomforts, and one of these is the loss of old… Read more »
Paris can be terribly humid in June. The temperatures are not so very high, but there are days when the air itself becomes oppressive, sucking energy from one’s body with every step. Inevitably, it is always on such days when the rubbish collectors choose to go on strike, rendering… Read more »
Neither of the LeBruns have ever been particularly artistically inclined. Madame’s mémère did fine embroidery, and had tried to teach her granddaughter, but Madame had never had the patience to learn. Nor did she have a gift for painting, though she quite liked pottery, the one time she tried… Read more »
Paris is all apartments, really. Very nice apartments, in some cases – positively luxurious, if you live in the wealthier arondissements, the 16th, say, or the 8th. And there are some lovely places in the Latin Quarter or the Marais, or the up near the Canal Saint Martin in… Read more »