Pain and anger in Limoges, at the foot of the ruined town hall: “I cried, as if it was my house that was burning”

They arrived in small groups, at first light, as one goes to the bedside of a loved one.

Around 9 a.m. this Sunday, nearly a hundred Limougeauds are already crowding around the town hall. The faces are gray, the eyes moist, the voices low. Everyone looks stunned.

Threads of smoke are still escaping from the torn roof. Through the gaping openings, we can make out the interior: a pile of rubble, pieces of collapsed framework. On the walls, tags: “CC Guérin”, “Vive la commune”, “ACAB”.