Memoirs of an Assassin
Sensitive Content
This entry contains material that some people may find disturbing.Paris, Tuesday, May 25, 1926, half past three in the afternoon. The car in which I had suddenly found myself honked and barely managed to drive through the dense throng, with people screaming on all sides: “Kill him, kill him!”
“Murderer!”
“Lynch him!”
“He’s not a Frenchman, but a foreigner!”
“He should be torn limb from limb!”
Out of the tumult comes…
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