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Last night he had pinned the priceless Romanoff Star to her dress. Only a few would have known what it was, where
it had come from, or its tragic history. But she knew, oh yes, and she knew also that she had to tell her superior that the Count held the key to the whereabouts of the rest of the valuable hoard.
As they sat in his Bentley, she glanced up at the German flag flying above the Arc de Triumphe.
They were on they're way to the Chantilly a night-club renowned for its blackmarketeers who would openly flaunt their transactions, as no respectable German would frequent this den. It was going to be another long, smoke filled
night, as she would have to wait until 6.30am, when the curfew was lifted before she breathed fresh air again. She only hoped the zazous, youthful layabouts, which had been hired to waylay Dietrich at he bar, and
hand him over to the Resistance, would be quick, and not hurt him in the scuffle. She would never know, as she knew she couldn't watch.
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