‘I can’t tell you the times I’ve wished for a gun to point at Hilary’s head. 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. “Where are we going?” Lucy asked desperately as Michelle began to twitch with greater frequency.
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