" "Yon ask impossibilities," replied Jonathan, sullenly. 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. Annabel set her teeth hard, and turned fiercely towards Anna. He can't be far off. Fifteen from forty is twenty-five.
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