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Café de la Paix
2nd arrondissement

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Serge let loose a low whistle and sat back in his seat. They were in the Café de la Paix, a stone's throw from the Opera itself. Franck had insisted they come there, ostensibly to get some decent coffee, but really in the hope that Serge would feel more at ease to talk about the Ballet's imperious head outside the walls of her domain.
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