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Once upon a time, a long time ago, around the year 1900, there was a big heap of rocks and mud that the natives at that time called Paris. It was the capital of a country favored with a temperate climate where cereals, vineyards, and the most beautiful fruits grew in abundance. Approaching these heaps of stone, overcoming the pestilential odors given off by them, one saw that it was crossed by roads of all sorts: some wide, packed with fine houses, and others narrow, with, on each side, houses with the look of mousetraps, arranged in tight rows.