David Golder, the Ball, Snow in Autumn & the Courilof Affair (2008)
“It was autumn, at dusk, on a day that felt cold for that part of the world. “It’s like the sky in Paris…” said a woman passing by, pointing to the yellowish clouds carried along by the wind. Within a few moments, it began to rain, enhancing the darkness of the deserted street where the lamps had not yet been lit; raindrops dripped down here and there through the soaked canvas awning stretched over the cafe.
The man who had followed Leon M. on to the terrace had secretly watched him ever sin...ce he’d sat down, trying to remember who he was; both men leaned forward towards the warm stove at the same moment.
From inside the cafe came the muddled sound of voices, people calling out; the crashing of billiard balls, trays banging down on the wooden tables, chess pieces being moved around the boards. Now and again, you could make out the hesitant, shrill fanfare of a small band, muffled by the other noise in the cafe.
Leon M.MoreLess
The man who had followed Leon M. on to the terrace had secretly watched him ever sin...ce he’d sat down, trying to remember who he was; both men leaned forward towards the warm stove at the same moment.
From inside the cafe came the muddled sound of voices, people calling out; the crashing of billiard balls, trays banging down on the wooden tables, chess pieces being moved around the boards. Now and again, you could make out the hesitant, shrill fanfare of a small band, muffled by the other noise in the cafe.
Leon M.MoreLess
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