theterriblezodin

“Hear my prayer
Answer my call
Breathe life into my soul
I am waiting for you to show
Come and hold me so.”
–“Summer Rain,” Jeffrey B. Franzel
 
Anne watched as the curtain of rain grew thicker, deepening the wells of water in the gaps between cobblestones of the inn yard.  She’d heard the Englishman calling in his bad French for another bottle of table wine, but she was in no hurry to serve him.  He had ready money, it was true, but the feelings of brotherly love for foreigners, even in Rouen, were not particularly fine-tuned.  Dashing to fulfil the needs of a London gentleman—no doubt stopping at Rouen on his way to Paris—were not at the top of her list, especially when the Englishman in question had failed to make proper obeisance.  A lady was a lady, and as a respectable inn-keeper, she felt slighted by his form of address.
    “Je viens!”