We dine at seven-thirty. One research is very like another. But recently he had asked God to pile it all on him; and God had added this, with a fresh portion for Ruth. 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.
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