” “Not exactly. "If," interrupted Jackson, changing his tone: "he does live. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. 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. Kneebone took his leave.
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