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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. We men are like children. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. She had looked forward to an explanation. F. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. Men do not understand constancy as women do.
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