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. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. "A good idea!" exclaimed the carpenter. ” “Thank you, Jane. “I told you I did not love you. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it.
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