Last week all Paris throbbed. Vivacious midinettes asked, que feras—tu quand ils viennent? (what are you going to do when they come?), and the noon hour re-echoed to laughter, accompanied by much coquetry of response.
On the high seas (see page 12) the better part of the American Legion approached ever nearer the land wherein they will hold their monster congress under the great dome of the Trocadero, on the Right bank of the Seine, Paris. And as they came they surreptitiously glanced every now and then...
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