The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. ” Ennison escaped. I would not think so of you, Marthe. On the way home he was still thoughtful. 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.
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