Jean took off again towards the park, running.
In her eyes, there was an image of an old, hungry house, guarded by ancient towers and children without pity or mercy.
The forest trees opened wells of shade into which the sun's rays ran like a spring, and the air was filled with the smell of plants and rot, dreamy leaves and sleepy animals, and Jean threw herself on the ground, her mouth and hands in the warm grass, and finally burst into tears so hard that the gardener's children who were playing at the end of one of the paths They stood for a while, listening

كاتب فرنسي, صدر له العديد من الروايات