He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. “I do not know whether to wish you success or not. That is very bad, certainly, and for this he was extremely sorry. If you had arrived ten minutes later, or if there hadn't been an iron bar in the chimney, that hindered my progress, I should have been beyond your reach. Her husband finally relented. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. 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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