"What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up. 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. Still —there you are!” He paused. They say it hasn't been opened for eight years—but I won't be eight years in getting out of it. She would marry him.
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