Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. The pavement had been hastily picked up, and heaped across the end of the street, upon which planks, barrels, and other barricades, were laid. Paris copies London. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. ‘Dead then, is he?’ ‘If I could say that he is dead, it would give me very much satisfaction.
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