Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. Guiltily, she felt very little for him, and yet she wondered what he would be like. 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. Wild's orders.
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