“Look, it’s probably some youths making Halloween mischief at the tomb, like their grandparents before them, and their grandparents before them,” Alfie says, taking my hand and saying youths like we aren’t twenty-three ourselves. “Don’t be a bore. Who else is going to convince François that I’m his soul mate and he needs to whisk me away to Provence for a sun-soaked movie montage? This is my time of need!”
