She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. “Rummy lot we are!” said Roddy. 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. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room.
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