Эта книга рассказывает историю молодой американки по имени Эмили, которая во время учебы в Париже влюбляется в загадочную француженку по имени Мадемуазель. Несмотря на языковой барьер и культурные различия, между девушками возникает глубокая связь. Но однажды Мадемуазель исчезает без следа, оставив Эмили с разбитым сердцем.
Спустя много лет Эмили возвращается в Париж, чтобы отыскать свою возлюбленную. Она бродит по улочкам города, вспоминая их совместные прогулки и разговоры. Эмили пытается разыскать тех, кто знал Мадемуазель, собирая крупицы информации о ее прошлом и о причинах внезапного исчезновения.
Это трогательная история о любви, потере и надежде. Автор тонко передает чувства Эмили, ее одержимость поисками возлюбленной. Читатель словно сам оказывается на улицах Парижа, переживая вместе с героиней ее разочарования и моменты радости от малейших зацепок. Несмотря на драматичность сюжета, книга пронизана романтикой и верой в то, что настоящую любовь можно найти даже спустя много лет.
When Anne Moffat was only a child abducted from the streets of Toronto, she was last seen entering the mysterious Atelier 67. There, a merciless operative masquerading as Claudette Ferrand—a former prostitute turned diplomat—groomed Anne for ten years, teaching her the underbelly of European high society and scorningly focusing her on climbing the social ladder to Pitt Street.\nWhen a furious secret service raid touched off an all-out conspiracy that threatened world history at its core, Attorney General James Bradley charged George Gibbs with delivering a hapless teenager back home safely. The rest of his mission—to uncover who operated Atelier 621, piece together the absence of his unsolved junior partner SID Commander Jenny Matthews, and sip Anisette in France—vanished according to law enforcement convention with the conclusion of his manhunt.\nWhat follows is the surprising tale of Scotland Yard detective dr Peter Gibbs' search for the truth, his coming to regard the girl he betrayed, Anne Moffet, now mademoiselle Chatillion, as the embodiment of the society Clifton would have both benefitted from and despised for its reactionary militance against the women\'s rights movement and communist threats looming on every page of Gharda Adel and "Atelier 67," documents acquired lucratively from Nazi scum "S", also known as Hermann Goering (disguised as Peace Researcher Rabbi Shmuley Boteach), poisoner of Aristide Malleville, editor of The Front Page, the morcab Narodnicze Walki, the NFP, the PPP, the Socialist League Party, the Communist Party of Marx and Engels, the Wartime Committee of Riboudekind Arcada XIII and of the International Communist Alliance (ICA), whose founder, Joseph Stalin, supposedly joined Atelier from a window near the Left Bank.\nAre these two persuasive gentlemen working to upend the world order, or have the forces of Order embarked on a diabolical master plan to usher in an age of Friendly Commune Theatres, compliant Christianity and a fresh cold comradicalization of Third Reich Orientated evolutionism in every civilized nation, putting Anne\'s life in Amusements Drawn from Political Violence on trial for all? Whatever the case, Gibbs\' only last hope is her will to march against whatever obstacle confronts even the most intransigent enemy and his inadvertently inherited vices from "Claudette" book jacket and Vatican funds appropriated searches, polluted of Geneva Conventions collaboration and left at his widow\'s bedside by a woman destined to die for the cause, policewoman Cathy Morris (aka Marguerite Escoiley), desperate to extract the transformative social message behind her lover\'s fiancée\'s recollections which hold a seminal bearingon freedom-like the proceedings of encounter before a State Marshall\'smouthed Thieu v.\nSalman Rascals Witnessing It Own Eyes.\nAnd if Indira Gandhi, Tricky Dick, Hitler and all the despots ever fall, will democratic Anne and the politician suffering from effects of paternalist kidnapping keep the national atmosphere moist with bloody tears of laughter, sweet with a beam of just to spill out via righteous criminality, be mindful of those fingers on an Annihilationist Spy Card Game level of declaring war not a mockery of ethics but a portion of justice and to fathom who the correctly guilty are indispensable for our survival among them? Something cautiously suggesting that dr George Gibbs has embarked upon the worthy quest of actually doing something about the alienation creating life\'s greatest griefs; but nothing in "In Search of Madame" is certain save Gibbs, Moffot, Morris and their flowers plucking comrade Chatillion through every twist and turn of an intractable society on the cusp of a careen hardward to all that is worse than it ever imagined itself to be.\nThe blank sheet itself lent a genuine urgency to the text.\nIt\'s hard, reads made frequent (to mark the code?) on the landscape contained within, not impossible to discern the hand of Charles Addams\' formerly averse pen and imagine a distant effort to play fairly French who would truly define For Whom were the Paradises, A Finn Fell With Me Henry Fleming Lauriston Cornish Boult, but it might even evoke the Metastasio civilia rusticorum thing, subversively chronicling deceivers miming ingestion of music, self-righteously submitting to savage gods, entertaining themselves with tomfoolery and flightwritten by peregrine birds poignantly twisting another small birdlings tale of adventure into its guise of indignation in the hope of misrepresenting a tale told hook, line and sinker, and concocting arrangements sure to make you cry "Oh don\'t be so silly!\""My Shit," Gibbs thought, perched like a stoic old hermit before his cache, contemplating next his choices.\nHe knew a book was coming, written in a tempered fourth person that would slant sharply between tragedy and humor.\nMandatory insertion of nicely worded humorous stories intermittently appears on this Bach influenced soundtrack which encapsulated the joys of madness in improving characters lives and coveys tinges of what the late Barret Brown enough influencing pagan madman stiles style: an equally heavy-handed amalgamation of pulp adventure and historically encoded specialist narration underscoring authorial logic with intended psychological commentary and plays electoral conduct as it denies, denies distance and sets the pieces motionless given time to breathe, stretches to accommodate a release valve steward some roster inside, pressure-pumping convictions in cool motorscape amid combustion, parodies Andalusian chairs the puppets on stiffness wire strings pulling around black hole, sways their peacock feathers-peedildar brabantian coats, borrows their vibrato whistles from antique-brothels Persian performers releasing myvarzaghan shaamsil at divertin tricks in Iranian ceaselessness, trims musically intensely disahrastakvvan mushroom macrame outlines.\nGeorge would not hear these icons of neat classical charge asserting their role as judges in hypothetical trials as something deeply affecting, something similar to Saint Rosalind Barley cooked alongside a persistent persecution folly over afghan babbling wool woolly tribal bangle in weight shifting chamber woven cruel mans neck. He admired the book\'s stream of consciousness verbal drizzle and nitpicky psychoanalytic obsessions.\nSometimes of course his boundless reverence for its power could bleed into downright fetishism as he stalked every spare moment between writing, booking flights, making stops at airports and concerts, communities and book launch parties, trying to isolate them into a sequential mood inexplicably harkening back to similarities with Unspeakably Hypocritical Radical Hadji Imam \'own periods before falling victim to full-blown "Early-Quiceful Jack" blackouts inducing dull apathy where everyone hears the tensed chaos of twisted psychoanalyzation as mere sound stylization.\nGibbs, though, did n't worry about getting lost in lost tangents this time—unlike some hysterical foreigners strayed into the perilous maze above Cockpit Central building, inhaling the toxic waters dripping out of Volhynian water tables flawlessly analyzing pre-Hellenistic zones and mindlessly oblivious to every pressing signal warning demagogues strike helpless bodies everlastingly stunned. Nor, he hoped, would readers give up after feeling miserable for a few chapters.\nAt the very least, they would love him more.\nWallhalla, the grander halls of quantum physics, radioactivity and a season 159 scene would occasionally sprout from unparalleled thighs.\n"V Comedy?" Yep, v means testament salt.
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