As so often before, I marveled at the dense lie of his hair, thick and shining as an otter's. Today, he seemed to belong to both categories. There was something engagingly innocent about the way he clutched his wife's hand throughout the prayers and sermon, and about his glance at her for approval when the preacher asked him to speak. For the first time, I wondered if there was something wrong with him. I'm afraid I can't .
Reason is, that was about seventy years ago.
But I can't describe the feeling of being back here in my birthplace. Really, there are no words. These were his standard clich s to express emotion required of him, but I looked around and saw many eyes fill with tears. A voluble and energetic little lady led the returning pilgrim upstairs. I crowded close behind, not wanting to miss a moment of this r cherche du temps perdu.