He despised everyone. Or so it seemed. But especially the French. And the Germans. Both of which there were quite a few at the campsite. If he disliked the English he didn’t say. Far too cowardly for that. Instead, a steady stream of provocative mutterings. Confident in the knowledge that he’d not be challenged by those he lamented.
Deuusi had been staying at the site for some weeks. Fruit picking locally. But soon to return to the Paris suburbs. One week left. And then the park’s cleaner cum gardener consigned to history. Where he belonged. She smiled.
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