The storm burst upon them in its fury. “It’s—private. 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. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. The man in me would like to break every bone in your body, but the physician understands that you don't actually realize what you have done. Lucy clasped her hands over her ears as it screamed.
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