A date of June 14 has been set for the courts to hear the first of many rounds of motions.
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Sunday, March 21
Paris, France
Spring in Paris is more glorious than any reviewer can adequately portray.
The clear air bristles with fresh anticipation like lovers on a cool afternoon. Bicycles, free from a winter of hiding in ga- rages, fill the streets and parks. All of Paris enjoys the first stroll of the year.
Coats and jackets are prematurely shed in favor of t-shirts and skimpy tank-tops and the cafes teem with alfresco activity. The lucky low-season American tourist experiences firsthand the French foreplay to summer.
Looking down to the streets from the 'deuziemme tage' of the Eiffel Tower, only a hundred feet up, the sheer number of stroll- ers, of pedestrian cruisers, of tourists and of the idly lazy occupies the whole of one's vista.
Martin Templer leaned heavily on the wrought iron railing of the restaurant level, soaking up the tranquility of the perfect Sunday afternoon. He gazed across the budding tree-lined Seine toward the Champs Elys e and the Arc de Triumph; from Notre Dame to the skyscrapered Ile de la Cit . He mentally noted the incon- gruity between the aura of peace that Paris radiated with its often violent history. He hoped nothing today would break that spell.
A sudden slap on the back aroused Templer from his sun warmed daydream. He turned his head in seeming boredom. "You'd make a lousy pickpocket."
"That's why I avoided a life of crime." Alexander Spiradon was immaculately dressed, down to the properly folded silk handker- chief in his suit jacket. "How are you today my friend? Did I interrupt your reverie?"