It was a beautiful place, Paris, especially now that the Nazis had gone. The kind of place where young lovers strolled arm-in-arm along the river or through the park, and music wafted lazily on the breeze wherever you went. It was the kind of place a guy shouldn’t mind riding out the last, gasping breaths of a dying war, Buck reminded himself, probably for the hundredth time.
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SEULE CE SOIR
Buck Compton/Don Malarkey