Lucy looked at her with a small measure of pity. "She has flown up stairs," replied the widow. I am an old friend, and I declined to be shelved. The girl suppressed a chuckle that would have been inexplicable. 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. ‘What is this fate?’ ‘Un mariage of no distinction.
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