For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. And a broken picture that was torn when I hit him with it. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. 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. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance.
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