Silver Moraine his garden at argenteuil

His own beloved place? The boy's ears flick at the question, and his features become more sullen, brooding. Once he'd had somewhere. Once he had a home with all the beauties that fate could afford, although nothing made the place more attractive to him than the presence of his family. Thinking of them now, Renoir almost loses track of the conversation as he drifts in to memories — but he does catch himself, and sadly answers, Non, not any more. There was no great catastrophe which drove him from his home; nothing as divisive as a fire or a storm, at least. His own attachment to his sister had been his downfall, but Renoir would not elucidate upon his past to this stranger. Finally, he pipped up with: It is good to meet ou, though they had not exchanged names - he felt their time together beginning to dwindle because of his mental distance - Maybe mwen will come back 'dis way, see ou and da foret? But he made no promises; and seeing the state of the woman's roundness, Renoir did not expect such friendliness should he return this way.