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COPYRIGHT 2002 All rights reserved. Reproduced by permission of The Condé Nast Publications Inc.
Those members of the New York newspaper-reading public who rise bleary-eyed at seven every morning to go and search for the previous day's edition of the great Paris daily Le Monde (a group that probably numbers in the low one figure) got a shock with their orange juice the other morning. Deep in the pages of the April 7th edition -- along with the usual highly philosophical op-ed pieces and highly condensed sports section and highly condescending editorials -- there was, well, us. Not us, exactly, but one of our neighbors: a twelve-page insert from the Times, a digest of the past week's stories, photographs, and reviews. There it was, bound into the voice of the French establishment: the familiar Times Gothic banner, its section heads, its bylines, even its charming way of slipping a photograph of a half-dressed babe (Kate Moss,...
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