\" He said, as he threw his trash into the can on the way out. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. Almost light-heartedly. 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. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. . I know why. I found him lying like this, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Amongst them was a revolver.
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