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His Masterpiece

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User: silviya
His Masterpiece
Claude Was Passing In Front Of The Hotel De Ville, And The Clock Was
Striking Two O'clock In The Morning When The Storm Burst Forth. He Had
Been Roaming Forgetfully About The Central Markets, During That
Burning July Night, Like A Loitering Artist Enamoured Of Nocturnal
Paris. Suddenly The Raindrops Came Down, So Large And Thick, That He
Took To His Heels And Rushed, Wildly Bewildered, Along The Quai De La
Greve. But On Reaching The Pont Louis Philippe He Pulled Up, Ragefully
Breathless; He Considered This Fear Of The Rain To Be Idiotic; And So
Amid The Pitch-Like Darkness, Under The Lashing Shower Which Drowned
The Gas-Jets, He Crossed The Bridge Slowly, With His Hands Dangling By
His Side.

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