And some were adorned with engravings that struck her as being more vulgar and undesirable than anything she had ever seen in her life. He was a fool. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world. 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.
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