[ What the Socialists like to call their "unofficial headquarters" is a building at the far end of an old Parisian backyard on rue Royale, the two top storeys reserved for less formal and more leisurely activities for the party, like Christmas dinners and celebratory parties, things like that. Maybe half the National Assembly group has gathered in the attic rooms below the sloping roof tonight, because this morning around 8.09, Claude's supplement on grooming was adopted into law with a two-third majority vote in the Senate. He's spent all day doing interviews for evening news shows that have aired by now and he hasn't watched a single one. Too busy not quite believing it. Too busy walking on fucking air.
Claire is currently shaking a champagne bottle hard, waiting for the cork to pop over Claude's head, the sparkling liquid pouring down over his upturned face and shoulders, catching in golden droplets in his curls and drenching his white shirt suggestively. He's laughing at her, not exactly trying to get away, but instead tipping his head back and opening wide, letting it run into his mouth, filling him, hoping to God he doesn't choke.
This is possibly one of the happiest days of his life.
Yves takes the bottle from Claire, shaking it more, champagne getting absolutely everywhere and Claude thinks about all the young human beings in France who from this date forward won't have to carry more guilt than what is inevitable, if it happens to them what happened to him, back then.
You can't see it for all the stupid champagne, sure, but there are tears tracking down his cheeks. And even so, he keeps drinking, he keeps going.
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Claire is currently shaking a champagne bottle hard, waiting for the cork to pop over Claude's head, the sparkling liquid pouring down over his upturned face and shoulders, catching in golden droplets in his curls and drenching his white shirt suggestively. He's laughing at her, not exactly trying to get away, but instead tipping his head back and opening wide, letting it run into his mouth, filling him, hoping to God he doesn't choke.
This is possibly one of the happiest days of his life.
Yves takes the bottle from Claire, shaking it more, champagne getting absolutely everywhere and Claude thinks about all the young human beings in France who from this date forward won't have to carry more guilt than what is inevitable, if it happens to them what happened to him, back then.
You can't see it for all the stupid champagne, sure, but there are tears tracking down his cheeks. And even so, he keeps drinking, he keeps going.
He keeps going. ]