They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. “I have the right to be here. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. They should never come into contact with politics or economics—or any of those things. ‘Not kill me, I mean. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans.
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