The shaky old Marshal did not even know where he was going as his train chuffed out of the Vichy station and, gathering speed, bored through the darkness toward Occupied France. Feeling the chilled air of winter seeping through the window sashes and around the drawn curtains of his car, the old Marshal doubtless shivered a little more when he wondered what sort of demands he would receive at the end of this journey to the unknown. Perhaps he knew just what he was prepared to concede. More likely he realized, as did...
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