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... by the rot.
The rain poured over Paris that evening.
Étienne Moreau sat at his long table, jacket off.
The doors creaked open.
Renaud stepped inside, carrying a bulging folder so thick the leather straps barely held.
His expression was somewhere between irritation and amusement.
"Another night of fairy tales," Renaud said, setting the folder down with a heavy thud.
Moreau exhaled slowly. "Fairy tales?"
"Yes. The very best Europe can in ...
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