Novels and Poems by Patrick Durantou - HTML preview

PLEASE NOTE: This is an HTML preview only and some elements such as links or page numbers may be incorrect.
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.

 

That day he took one last book shelves of his library, opened it and then put away. His day finished writing his last novel had sold. He just put an end to this work which took him much to heart that in recent weeks he devoted all his energy to this task. He wrote from out of the thirties and beginning to reap the fruit of his tireless work ten years later. His melee ardor of an atavistic passion browse books, to draw an imaginary world, sprinkle until late the race indefinitely brought him to see only the substance of the content of things the expense of action. This existential duality saw the sovereign in its decisions why it favored an exaggerated reflection.

Mathieu Louvin was his name, already possessed and already some fame in the golden world of Letters. His many awards, his already substantial work, the procession of its media interventions augured a brilliant career that was not disputed. His growing readership parachuted among the notable authors of the country, until evening when the urge took him out into the city and breathe the atmosphere of a summer night.

The city fanned by its electrical fumes. Streets, high buildings ministered their golds as far as he could cross the rebellious people to immobility, wild movement. In this world march in its luxury and fragility so full Mathieu went to a cafe downtown that formerly frequented. The hotel was half empty and adorned with the essential parts of the ancient city. The server was chatting with a couple of regulars when he commanded an e draft beer. Through the crystal windows of Central Café troops of young men roamed the sidewalks heckling thoughtlessly. Mathieu took stock of these last days to finish his latest book, his chance encounters between two chapters to flirt with life without ever really marry. He certainly thought about Emeline he had left the day before returning home after a common meal and drunk Bordeaux old périgourdines sauces. Emeline knew and appreciated at the height not im m iscer beyond reason in its work without adding the moments of relaxation and recreation together ; it would review the ap probably tomorrow lmost a passage in the editor ...