|Inside the Arena at Arles|
|Van Gogh's hospital|
|Inspiration for Café Terrace at Night|
“It’s a ruined village, a hill village south of Avignon. I believe it’s a queer wild sort of place – just ruins and a deserted village and an inn and a wonderful eerie view. It’s just what I feel like, anyway, miles from anywhere.”
Charity gets up very early to witness the arrival of dawn.
I got up, stretched, stood for a moment looking at the growing light. Waiting, perhaps unconsciously, for the trumpet to blow its shrill aubade across the stars.
Something moved behind me.
Moved and spoke.
As I whirled, my heart stampeding, my hands to my throat—
‘’So I’ve found you again,” said Richard Bryon.
He was standing barely three yards away from me. In the darkness I could see him only as a looming shape on the slope above me, but I would have known that voice anywhere, hard, incisive, with an edge to it, and an unpleasant undertone of mockery.
|A fountain outside Hôtel de Ville d'Arles|