Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. You’ll have to go back to Remenham House. ” Lucy rubbed Michelle on the shoulder. 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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