Springtime is for LoversSpringtime is for Lovers

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When we first met it was entirely by accident. Even now I remember it clearly, although almost four decades have passed by since then. It was one of those lovely bright sunny days that are so typical of Paris in the springtime.I was strolling along the Boulevard Haussmann, just outside the Magasin au Printemps where the pretty girls were selling their bunches of lily of the valley as they traditionally used to do on the first day of May.  I wasn’t looking where I was going, daydreaming as usual and distracted by the sweet scent of the flowers that evoked pleasant thoughts of past amours and were rich with the promise of future joys in the arms of a beautiful woman.You could say we bumped into each other, but more truthfully I barged into her, literally knocking her off balance so that she almost fell to the pavement. After teetering on her high heels for Anadolu yakası escort bayan a few anxious heart-stopping-moments, she thankfully regained her composure, although she had to drop her packages in their colourful beribboned wrappings, which fell in disarray at my feet. I stooped to retrieve them and as I rose shamefaced by my unthinking boorishness, I blurted out clumsy words of apology, which she accepted with a graciousness which I later learned was so characteristic of her.“S’il vous plaît accepter mes excuses sincères, c’était très maladroit de moi Mademoiselle, laissez-moi vous aider avec ces choses,” I said in my very best schoolboy French.“Thank you Monsieur,” she replied, “pas de mal, and it’s Madame,” indicating the ring on the third finger of her right hand — which, she later told me, Escort Kurtköy was the custom of her Spanish mother, although she herself was a Frenchwoman by virtue of having a French father.“You must allow me to buy you coffee,” I said, “and perhaps one of those delicious French patisseries.”She demurred, saying she was had immediate affairs to attend to, but suggested that we might have dinner that evening instead. I blanched inwardly at the name of the little restaurant she mentioned, which, although excellent, was expensive. However, she was so charming and beautiful that I agreed without a further thought, entranced by the prospect of an enjoyable and diverting evening in the intimate company of a captivating young lady.Besides I was also tempted by the delicious possibility of a mutually pleasant love affair, which Maltepe escort caused my amorous heart to beat faster — even then the French were so much more sophisticated about matters of sex than we British.*****At this point. I should digress briefly to tell you a little about myself. As you will already have surmised I am English by birth and I was then in my late twenties. I had first visited Paris in the late 1960s, when at the age of eighteen I stayed with a family for a few weeks in the Easter holidays in order to improve my spoken French prior to taking my A-level examinations that June.At the time I had no idea that seven years later, after graduating from Cambridge University with a first class honours degree and a doctorate in English literature, I would actually be working in Paris as a junior lecturer at the Paris-Sorbonne University. This institution had been formed in 1971 following the decision by the French government to break up the University of Paris, the Sorbonne, following the student riots of 1968. After twenty years working my way up the ladder I was appointed professor, a post I held until my retirement half a decade ago at the age of sixty-two. 

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