On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. She pointed across the road. I naturally want to do it up in proper style. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. 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. Either we go forth together, or they shall bury me.
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