I am presently reading Cara Black's
Murder in the Bastille, not so much because I like mysteries (and I do), but because I love Paris. The city is in fact one of the great loves of my life. And Black has a way of integrating French words and expressions, including slang, that create a totally
atmosphère parisienne. The problem: the descriptions of narrow passages, architecture, and artisans; the mix of grace and grouchiness, modernity and tradition that is Paris, all make me want to jump on a damn
avion and walk along the Seine.
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