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and then the most chic of them all,
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the Cafe de la Paix in the Grand Hotel,
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which is still there.
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He was in some way a flaneur,
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an intellectual who had
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briefly in his life been something of a dandy,
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but if so he was an impoverished flaneur
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who lived on the margins of urban life
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and who now came to the Grand Boulevard
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not just to observe with detached distance,
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as the flaneur, but to hate, and now to kill.
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He moved on, finding each place was not crowded enough.