THE BILLIONAIRE'S AFFAIR
We pass a couple of signs that, even though I don’t speak French, seem to suggest we’re in a place called Neuville-lès-Dieppe.
“It’s too bad we don’t speak French,” I muse, “otherwise we could stop and ask for directions. I guess we could just look confused and say, ‘Paris, see voo play’?”
“I speak French,” Grant says.
“You do?”
Suddenly I remember that he knew the Baudelaire quote Epicurus had sent him: Au revoir, mon hyprocrite lecteur, mon semblable, mon frere. At the time, I had just assumed that someone else had translated it for him. Guess not.
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