She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. 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. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. At least for one moment, it was.
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