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![]() He knew exactly what he was about to say. “Do you remember,” Stephen began, and Armand turned back to the elderly man beside him. But for now they relaxed, grateful for their children, and very grateful for the few minutes away from them in this safe place.Ī less likely setting for the devil would be hard to imagine.īut then, Armand Gamache thought, where else would you find darkness but right up against the light? What greater triumph for evil than to ruin a garden? Young parents watched from wooden benches, their planks turned gray over the years. Straining away.Ĭhildren ran free, laughing and racing down the long lawn in front of the château. Shadows were distancing themselves from the trees, the statues, the people. It was a warm and pleasant late-September afternoon. In each other’s company.Īrmand passed his companion a tartelette au citron and glanced casually around. The deep peace that comes not just with quiet, but with familiarity. Outside the walls they could hear the traffic, the hustle and the tussle of the great city.īut here, here, there was peace. “Here, here” was the garden of the Musée Rodin, in Paris, where Armand and his godfather were enjoying a quiet few minutes. “Well, maybe not here, here”-Stephen spread his expressive hands-“exactly.” ![]() And all the devils are here?” asked Armand Gamache. “Hell is empty, Armand,” said Stephen Horowitz. ![]()
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