Friday, November 7th.
Concarneau is deserted.
The old town's luminous clock, visible above the ramparts, shows five minutes to eleven.
It's high tide, and a southwesterly storm is rattling the boats in the harbor. The wind rushes through ...
Friday, November 7th.
Concarneau is deserted.
The old town's luminous clock, visible above the ramparts, shows five minutes to eleven.
It's high tide, and a southwesterly storm is rattling the boats in the harbor. The wind rushes through the streets, where scraps of paper can sometimes be seen flying along the ground.
On the Quai de l'Aiguillon, there's not a single light. Everything is closed. Everyone is asleep. Only the three windows of the Hôtel de l'Amiral, at the corner of the square and the quay, are still lit.
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