Jeffrey is a poor laborer on the Eiffel Tower, he works to feed his little sister, and the girl who sells flowers on the corner is pretty.

It was winter of 1889 and the Eiffel Tower was to be complete by spring.
Jeffrey hung in the air, dangling a distance from the ground that had long ceased to frighten him. He’d lied, of course, to get the job, by telling them he wasn’t afraid of heights, but he’d needed the money more than anything and a fear could be beaten out of anyone, he’d learned.
He glanced out at the Paris that lay sprawled out before him, a magnificent sea of buildings and monuments and church towers that didn’t come close to the height he hung from. He stared out above them all. Before coming to work on the tower, he’d never dreamed a view like this existed, a million shades of sprawling landscape.
Jeffrey turned his eyes away. Of course, he wasn’t being paid to enjoy the view. He had a job to finish. For Paris.
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