EPOCH THE FIRST, 1703. The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. He walked out into the Champs Elysées and sat down. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement.
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