After a lifetime in the French diplomatic corps
After a lifetime in the French diplomatic corps, the Count de Gruse lived with his wife in an elegant townhouse on Quai Voltaire. He was cable duct a likeable man, cultivated of course, with a well deserved reputation as a generous host and an amusing raconteur.
This evening’s guests were all European and all equally convinced that immigration was at the root of Europe’s problems. Charles de Gruse said nothing. He had always wire duct concealed his contempt for such ideas. And, in any case, he had never much cared for these particular guests.
The first of the red Bordeaux was being served cable trunking with the veal, and one of the guests turned to de Gruse.
“Come on, Charles, it’s simple arithmetic. Nothing to do with race or colour. You must’ve had bags of experience of this sort of thing. What d’you say?”