What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. But you will stay here?" "I dare not. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. Unexpectedly he found himself speeding toward the father.
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