For a long time maids and lackeys have shared with inmates of brothels, the dubious privilege of name change at the discretion of the desire of their patrons, they do not bother taking further customized memory and which bear the same name in successive servants. I imagined that this tradition was lost. Should think not. Good. My Celestin, therefore, called Yves Bénech. A Breton. But not to round hat. A cap. Rebien. Ms. Ailot me that he was no longer part of the house. She was kicked out because she had noticed some things that he did not like. And Celestine had retaliated by carrying off the jewelry. She repeated that my quality of private detective certainly impress the former driver. I agreed, without inner conviction excessive. These minions are found occasionally in use, tougher than lout experienced. But I kept these thoughts to bibi defeatists. In ancient fierce New Mysteries of Paris, I wanted some time ago to revisit the 50s, so well illustrated by Tardi, with Nestor Burma (which has not much to do with the sanitized TV version of the 90s).
Intrigue convoluted, banter Parigot, episode highlights social contrasts in the 16th, the retro-bottom handles everything for me ... please!
And yet I have not found what had once been admired and pushed to read Leo Malet in four volumes in the Mouthpieces.
Not talkative at La Muette
, a thriller that reads quickly, with pleasure, but no more. The ogress's note:
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