” Annabel shook her head. Stanley poured wine. I thought that he was dead. These and her general preparations had perhaps a certain disproportion. “I wonder if they will seem altered,” she remarked for the third time. 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. All her life Martha had been there.
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