“Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he 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. He walked in her direction. The telegram reminded Ann Veronica that she had no place for interviews except her bed-sitting-room, and she sought her landlady and negotiated hastily for the use of the ground floor parlor, which very fortunately was vacant. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. I asked you to go. She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind. She thrashed and screamed as he wrestled her back towards the bed. Don't ask any more questions.
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