He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. "Not my king's," returned Wood. 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. If you want advice, your aunt is the person. You have set out to do something which is neither God's way nor man's.
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