Somewhere in the hills above Lourmarin, where the light turns the stone the color of warm bread by late afternoon, this iron chaise spent its first life facing the sun. The frame is wrought iron worn to a silvery grey patina, built as a long raised bed with a steeply raked back and a row of open iron circles down each side. At the head sit two spoked wheels and a small steering handle, so the whole thing could be rolled across a terrace to chase the sun or the shade. Sylvie sets it on a gravel terrace with a thin cotton mattress thrown over the frame and a stack of sun-softened paperbacks on the ground beside it.
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