The Collected Stories of Stefan Zweig
“Probably quiet and peaceful even in the livelier days of spring, when travellers from Bellagio and Menaggio gather in crowds on the narrow strip of beach, in these warm summer weeks the little town was fragrant, sunny and isolated. The hotel was almost entirely deserted: a few occasional guests, each an object of curiosity to the others by virtue of having chosen to spend a summer holiday in this remote place, surprised every morning to find anyone else still here. Most surprising of all to me was the continued presence of an elderly gentleman, very distinguished in appearance and very cultivated—he looked something like a cross between a very correct English statesman and a Parisian man of the world—who, instead of amusing himself by enjoying some lakeside sporting activity, spent his days thoughtfully watching the smoke from his cigarettes dispersing in the air, or now and then leafing through a book.
The oppressive isolation of two rainy days, and his frank, open manner, soon g...ave our acquaintanceship a warmth that almost entirely bridged the gap in years between us.MoreLess
The oppressive isolation of two rainy days, and his frank, open manner, soon g...ave our acquaintanceship a warmth that almost entirely bridged the gap in years between us.MoreLess
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