drsawzall

I found the following interesting as it is the second time in the past two chapters that, for lack of better words, "knowing one's place" has been stressed...do these pretentious twits really think they are going to be the ones to rule the world? A township, a county, a state, perhaps, but there are much bigger fish than they and their families out there... And was Bastien saying he knows his place is under the peasant, Lawrence??? Ali sauntered over to them. “Bastien, tell me you didn’t,” he said with a grin. “What is the Veridien motto, Ali?” Bastien asked, his tone mocking yet pleased. “There are just so many. I have no idea.” “Know your place; it has already been chosen for you,” Bastien said breezily.

The accidental bump with the hired help is too much of a coincidence in terms of losing the photo...how long was the photo in his pocket, and who would have had access during that time... As to Ali...Right.......sure...whatever you say... Ali grimaced and squinted. “Really? Is masturbation a common practice in such institutions of law and order?” “Isn’t it here?” “Here,” Ali said, squaring his shoulders, “sublimation of desire is the ultimate goal.” “Interesting. Not everyone appears to be a staunch supporter of such views, however.” “I am quite the staunch supporter,” Ali cared to emphasize.

Just because I can remember the halcyon days of the late 1960's doesn't mean I have an appreciation for paisley or shag carpeting...The chair however, reminds me of several wayward nights in my misspent youth...

Like I said @Summerabbacat, I am an unabashed lover of museums...and yes, fine, antique furniture can do that to me...

That was a sudden turn of events, and Patrick needs to stop cutting himself....

When I had a chance to go to London, right around the corner from my hotel was the Wallace. I am an unabashed museum junkie...I've now been 3 times and each time I go back to the Wallace. Their collection of armor is simply world class. While I am not much into that sort of thing, panting and furniture simply astounds me...Furniture excites me, the craftmanship before power tools and the portrate of Rembrandt's son is spectacular... I laughed. “The things teenage boys do!” “Got it. So at some point, Ma and I are at the Wallace Collection—”

Pampers for 30...quite the tall order... The crew of the Zodiac has once again pulled off the nearly impossible...now the real work begins...

I can't recommend this highly enough, I don't wish to give anything away other than to say...give this a chance!!

Thank you for this, an unbelievable but very plausible ending...this story captivated me from beginning to end. If the muse should ever strike you again, it would be wonderful to peek in on the two of them again, not forgetting Titus. This was an amazing story, well told and very captivating. He had spent a great deal to be a man who could kneel here honestly. His standing among his own people, thinned but not broken. Some part of his cousin's trust, spent on an argument he'd made once at the wreck of a column and had never fully explained since. Whatever ease he might once have expected to feel again around Berulf, or the men who listened when Berulf spoke. He did not regret any of it, sitting here. He had checked, more than once, for the regret, the way a man checks a wound to see if it's finally stopped troubling him, and had found, each time, only the plain fact that he would spend all of it again without hesitation, and did not know, some evenings, whether that was faith or simply the shape love had decided to take in him. Thank you for this!

This also concerns me as well!

I can’t wait to see how this develops…

My goodness…are there bets on how long the curtain rises on these two dunderheads? Ben slowly covered his face with both hands. "Oh, this season is going to be incredible."

Is it right yet…a powerful comment…although I wonder why they stayed cooped up….

Much the way Julien is building a lasting relationship...well done, what a great paragraph... The valley below the col was wide and farmed. Stone walls divided pastures where cattle stood in the stillness of animals who have nowhere to be. The walls were old. Dry stone, no mortar, built by hands that understood weight and balance and the angle at which one stone would hold another without help. Oliver looked at them as they descended and thought about the hands that had built them and it wasn’t sentimental. It was practical. Someone had understood how things hold together. Someone had placed each stone knowing that the wall would outlast the placing.

The following was very telling and a metaphor for this slow burn of a relationship... “It’s an excuse,” Julien said. He turned to Oliver and his mouth moved into something that wasn’t quite the wide smile from Henri’s restaurant but was closer to it than anything Oliver had seen directed at him. “The truth is I’m afraid of heights.”