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Updated: June 3, 2025
All these carriages full of tender couples, all these people intoxicated with the same idea, with the same thought, seemed to give out a disturbing, subtle emanation. At last Monsieur Leras grew a little tired of walking, and he sat down on a bench to watch these carriages pass by with their burdens of love. Almost immediately a woman walked up to him and sat down beside him.
That day Monsieur Leras stood by the door, dazzled at the brilliancy of the setting sun; and instead of returning home he decided to take a little stroll before dinner, a thing which happened to him four or five times a year. He reached the boulevards, where people were streaming along under the green trees.
I will continue my stroll as far as the entrance to the Bois de Boulogne. It will do me good." He set out. An old tune which one of his neighbors used to sing kept returning to his mind. He kept on humming it over and over again. A hot, still night had fallen over Paris. Monsieur Leras walked along the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne and watched the cabs drive by.
It was a spring evening, one of those first warm and pleasant evenings which fill the heart with the joy of life. Monsieur Leras went along with his mincing old man's step; he was going along with joy in his heart, at peace with the world. He reached the Champs-Elysees, and he continued to walk, enlivened by the sight of the young people trotting along.
"Leras agrees that Alanna's clanswoman Dana should wear black. Leras also concurs and will cooperate with Alanna in other respects; Jason is currently in Leras territory, and as an off-worlder, we must give him time to leave. But his property will be destroyed, and should he remain here after one standard day, he will be delivered to Alanna for Chief's Right." "Shona concurs and will cooperate."
That day Monsieur Leras stood by the door, dazzled at the brilliancy of the setting sun; and instead of returning home he decided to take a little stroll before dinner, a thing which happened to him four or five times a year. He reached the boulevards, where people were streaming along under the green trees.
It was always damp and cold, and from this hole on which his window opened came the musty odor of a sewer. For forty years Monsieur Leras had been arriving every morning in this prison at eight o'clock, and he would remain there until seven at night, bending over his books, writing with the industry of a good clerk.
The policeman who had been called cut down an old man who had hung himself with his suspenders. Examination showed that he had died the evening before. Papers found on him showed that he was a bookkeeper for Messieurs Labuze and Company and that his name was Leras. His death was attributed to suicide, the cause of which could not be suspected. Perhaps a sudden access of madness!
Then they set off, the little girl holding in her hand the small varnished rung of a crutch, just as she might walk beside her big friend and hold his thumb. When Old Man Leras, bookkeeper for Messieurs Labuze and Company, left the store, he stood for a minute bewildered at the glory of the setting sun.
She stood before him and in an altered, hoarse, angry voice exclaimed: "Well, it isn't for the fun of it, anyhow!" He insisted in a gentle voice: "Then what makes you?" She grumbled: "I've got to live! Foolish question!" And she walked away, humming. Monsieur Leras stood there bewildered. Other women were passing near him, speaking to him and calling to him.
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