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” “Against your will?” He asked. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. 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. ” She shook her head deliberately, hopelessly. Howard Taber. It was the last thing she felt like drinking.
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