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Grasping her long cloak around her Yvette walked quickly past '84, Avenue Foch', the Gestapo Headquarters. It was
ironic that she was to meet his accomplice here, a jittery society hostess, right under their noses, to accept an insignificant looking bag, filled with priceless gemstones, gilded tiaras, baroque pearls, the like of which
she'd never see again. Nor would she see Dietrich again, but she wouldn't shed a tear for him, there had been enough shed over these jewels over the years for her to waste hers on him. Oh no, she'd deliver them to the address
given to her that morning, then she's go home, and write this all down, in her diary, to read another day, a tale of `Those Stolen Tears'.
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