He met her in one of those trendy little cafés in Montmartre, where the waiters were snooty when he tried his bad French on them. He went there some mornings, doing nothing more than watch the world go by. Until today, when the girl slipped and fell on a pavement greasy from the drizzly rain that had begun to fall on sun-drenched stone.
He dabbed her bleeding knee with a fresh linen handkerchief. The one he always carried for such eventualities. Just in case.
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