PREVIEW
... re de l’Est was shrouded in February fog.
Steam hissed from the brakes of a waiting military transport train, and porters in navy-blue uniforms ran between cars, loading crates, duffels, and ammunition cases.
Paris, behind the train station was silent as always except for the native big rats who were having their own adventure in the smell which is supposed to be hidden by the word romantic.
Moreau thought to himself.
Who came here in this rat infested, smelly cit ...
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