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. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby. "I am your most unhappy son. “How would you know?” Michelle’s interest was piqued.
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