“Paradise instead of prison and the firing squad!’ ‘Don’t count on it.’ ‘No sign of Gessler.’ Fin-de-siècle decor was everywhere if a trifle moth-eaten, the main dance floor huge, its timbered ceiling smoke-stained from the turn of the century and before. Probably 1890, or 1880. ‘I’ll get us a couple of drinks and see if there’s any food left.’ ‘You won’t get through the crush.’ ‘Pastis, right? Beer for me. It’s straight in from home.’ Hermann was like a small boy greedily eating stolen chocolat...es at his first film. Mesmerized by it all, rejoicing and automatically joining in because that’s the way he was. Giselle and Oona would certainly have their hands full if he ever did get that ‘little place’ on the Costa del Sol. ‘Your hat, monsieur, and coat?’ She wasn’t any more than fifteen, reeked of cheap perfume and underarm talcum powder. ‘I’ll keep them. These days that is often best.’ ‘Suit yourself. Monsieur le Secrétaire Général Bousquet makes the telephone call while that one, he …’ Her bare arm pointed to a distant corner table all but hidden by the dim lighting and the smoke.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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