Once the darkness has fallen, the monuments, the places empty of their visitors and calm down, returned to their silence and their mystery.
Or… The Figaro journalists stayed on site for a night like no other.
Follow the leader.
I met Ivan on a stormy evening.
Nothing foreshadowed that one day our paths would cross, and yet it all happened in 1946, seventy-five years before we met.
That year, the La Flèche zoological park opened its doors to visitors for the first time.
Like today, the night before the opening, a black cloud hung over the eighteen hectares of the park.
It's almost 8 p.m., and a few holdouts (a handful of parents in Maclaren strollers followed by their untidy-braided children clinging to their disposable Kodak cameras) are retreating like the tide.
A last stream of little darlings overwhelms me, and, swimming against the tide, I finally reach the front door.
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Barely did I succeed
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