@vireous must ask cur non?
He’s grown old which in itself is a miracle. There have been times when his family tree looks more like a graveyard of young soldiers. But he had somehow made it to his seventies. He hoped it was a sign of things to come, his only son Georges was already in his fifties as practical and wise as his dearly departed mother. It was perhaps the smallest of his many revolutions but sometimes when he looked at his little family it somehow felt as the most important.
He removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow from spending too many hours in the garden when he saw a stranger on the road ahead leading to la Grange. He waved him down. “I feel as if I know you. Your father perhaps . . . Tell me what is your name?”
He had been rebellious and most fair once before being cast down and humbled. This hell was at least gentle but no less cruel because of that.
