He had always disliked moving, and now that the move was from on country to another, that detestation intensified.
It hadn’t seemed half as bad when he was writing to the Paris Academy. |
Paris Academy was one of the seven post-secondary institutions in the world offering all programs to all nationalities and classes in all possible languages.
Her face had a welcoming, natural sweetness, not at all what he had picture his landlady to be.
and the small amount of space in between his house and the next one was overgrown and choked with clover and deleterious weeds.
They were everywhere, floating on every gust of October wind, as if to remind people that autumn had come and winter was on its way.
But now all of the places and houses bled together to form a river of memories.
countered with the sprawling, scrambling city which had been his life in England; it had been very peaceful and simple.
Jack had never attended an Academy before because he was awarded scholarships for the Ivy League colleges, and therefore didn’t need to apply to the Academies when he had already been accepted by the second-best institution in the world.
There was one on each continent, except for Antarctica, and Europe had two: one in Paris and one in Rome.
Students coming from overseas were given temporary duel citizenship, allowing them to pursue their futures with as little political interference as possible.
And now he’d arrived, he felt the place didn’t suit him at all.
Even though the rent was low, the house looked like it had just barely survived a freak accident.
Her movement sent her cat bounding onto the crimson Axminster carpet amusement of Moya, who snorted in a very dog-ish way.
Doing as he was told he sat, feeling slightly out of place like he had walked into the French-version of a Jane Austen novel.
“Now,” Miss Dominique began pleasantly. His weak smile appeared on his lips again. “Your letter was not quite clear, Professor. How long will you be with us?”
The cat hissed in retaliation
“All right,” he said, sensing a brawl just waiting to happen, stood and avoided the feline as he made his way to the door. “I’m leaving.”
They were simply shreds of vegetation after being trampled by pedestrians and torn by bicycle wheels.
All the while, his stomach was churning. He had always disliked moving, and now that the move was from one country to another, that detestation intensified.
Why?
Don’t think about it, he thought.
The door was perhaps eight feet high and wide
The house was, quite literally, falling apart.
He had taken a taxi from the Hôtel de la Bourdonnais, and it took him down a long stretch of road with the hulking figure of the Eiffel Tower looming ominously over the surrounding area, and then over the Pont d'Iéna bridge and into a new and unfamiliar area of Paris.
He loved the secluded quiet of the country; [s]it had been very peaceful and simple[/s]. Nothing was out of the ordinary.