“At 5.30 a.m. Berlin time the curfew had broken, but the dawn was still some hours away. St-Cyr stood alone on the sidewalk at the entrance of the courtyard that led to the Hotel of the Silent Life. There was only a small wooden placard to mark the location of the hotel. They’d not been able to afford bronze when what had once been the villa of a bourgeois merchant had lost its innocence and become a pension. Armed with Hermann’s Gestapo flashlight, he’d been searching for the girl’s papers but ...had come out here to experience the city’s awakening. Those that had stayed late had begun to seep homeward or to their places of work. Here in the quartier Goutte-d’Or, on the rue Polonceau it was no different. All over Paris there would be this same indefinable hush. It was as if guilt drove the honest to scurry or to coast one’s bicycle when passing others in the dark, instinct having given warning and the gently ticking breath of the sprocket answer. The wind in a girl’s skirt in summer; the clasp of her overcoat as now.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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