By Elena Mauli Shapiro
American educational Trevor Stratton discovers a field filled with artifacts from international conflict I as he settles into his new place of work in Paris. the images, letters, and items within the field relate to the lifetime of Louise Brunet, a feisty, fascinating Frenchwoman who lived via either international Wars.
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AGE OF REitfSON half I it's been my goal, for a number of years previous, to put up my recommendations upon faith. i'm good conscious of the problems that attend the topic, and from that attention, had reserved it to a extra complex interval of lifestyles. T meant it to be the final delivering I may still make to my fellow-citizens of all countries, and that at a time while the purity of the intent that brought about me to it, couldn't admit of a question, even by way of those that may well disapprove the paintings.
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Additional resources for 13, Rue Thérèse
They are dressed tidily. They settle in the quadrant of seats across the aisle from Louise. She watches them. They are speaking animatedly about some business she does not understand; she can merely feel the abstract flow of money beneath their words. She watches their mouths. Since it is an unseasonably temperate day, the underground is close and warm. The men are wearing wool suits, well cut: brown, gray, and black. The blast of their collective colognes wafts to her—yet the civilized scent of it wilts slightly beneath the heat of their contained bodies: Louise can smell the tang of sweat.
It was just his time. His last name was Victor. His first name is yet to be found in the documentation. AFTER THE TROOPS MARCH into Paris in June of 1940, he spends an entire month completely drunk. His daughter is concerned. Her husband says: “Leave him alone. ” This condition is unusual for him. He always had an even temperament. He was always a moderate person. Despite his constant state of inebriation, he isn’t loud or sloppily emotional. He doesn’t say anything that might get him shot. He hardly says anything at all.
It must have been a very, very slow broken heart. Maybe it took so long because it kept getting half-mended by the young women he hired to tend to his children. Or he died of a broken heart because his country was in bondage—though he survived the invasion by nearly four years. Really, morally, he was quite flexible. The situation was not ideal. He didn’t necessarily enjoy it, but he never fought it. He was too old. It was no longer any of his business. He was seventy-three years old. It was just his time.