The Last Dance at the Halo
The champagne was warm, which was the first sign that something was wrong. In Paris, champagne should never be warm. It should be cold enough to make your teeth ache and sharp enough to wake you up. But this champagne was warm, and the glass in my hand was sweating, and the room around me—the Halo Cafe on Rue de Seine—was full of people who were trying very hard to forget that the war had ever...
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