Should he go to the Cure?
No; one thing at a time, and today he wanted his thoughts for himself.

More people passed him, and spoke of him to each other, though there was no coarse curiosity--the habitant has manners.
Presently he passed a low shop with a divided door.

The lower half was closed, the upper open, and the winter sun was shining full into the room, where a bright fire burned.
Charley looked up.

Over the door was painted, in straggling letters: "Louis Trudel, Tailor." He looked inside.

There, on a low table, bent over his work, with a needle in his hand, sat Louis Trudel the tailor.
Hearing footsteps, feeling a shadow, he looked up.