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“Come on Illya? What is wrong with you?” Napoleon Solo moaned. “This place is so sizzling I’d swear it was Summer! Paris Je t-aime."
His partner was letting his Russian stoicism shine through as usual, putting a damper on the American’s enthusiasm.
“You forget I lived in Paris for three years and it does not exactly hold fond memories for me.”
“Well since you refuse to share those memories with me, how can I empathize with you? Illya, Paris in the Springtime, how can that not call to you, seriously?”
Kuryakin sighed as he and his partner walked along in a small park on the side of Notre Dame facing the Left Bank; the cherry and almond trees were in full bloom, filling the air with their sweet scent.
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