Maigret in New York (2016)
“It was late, probably close to ten o’clock.
Maigret’s watch had stopped and unlike the St Regis, the Berwick did not spoil its guests by setting electric clocks in its walls. Anyway, why bother knowing the time? Maigret was in no hurry that morning. Actually, he had no plans at all. For the first time since he had landed in New York, he was greeted when he awakened by real springtime sunshine, a tiny bit of which had filtered in to his room and bathroom.
Because of this sun, moreover, h...e had hung his shaving mirror from the window latch and was shaving there, as he used to do in Paris at Boulevard Richard-Lenoir, where there was always a ray of sunlight on his cheek when he shaved in the morning. Isn’t it wrong to believe that big cities are all different from one another, even in the case of New York, which is always written about as a kind of monstrous machine that grinds people to pieces?
He, Maigret, was there, in New York, and he had a window latch at just the right height for shaving, a slanting ray of sunshine to make him blink and, across the way in some office or studio building, two girls in white smocks laughing at him.MoreLess
Maigret’s watch had stopped and unlike the St Regis, the Berwick did not spoil its guests by setting electric clocks in its walls. Anyway, why bother knowing the time? Maigret was in no hurry that morning. Actually, he had no plans at all. For the first time since he had landed in New York, he was greeted when he awakened by real springtime sunshine, a tiny bit of which had filtered in to his room and bathroom.
Because of this sun, moreover, h...e had hung his shaving mirror from the window latch and was shaving there, as he used to do in Paris at Boulevard Richard-Lenoir, where there was always a ray of sunlight on his cheek when he shaved in the morning. Isn’t it wrong to believe that big cities are all different from one another, even in the case of New York, which is always written about as a kind of monstrous machine that grinds people to pieces?
He, Maigret, was there, in New York, and he had a window latch at just the right height for shaving, a slanting ray of sunshine to make him blink and, across the way in some office or studio building, two girls in white smocks laughing at him.MoreLess
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