Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. 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. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. Annabel believed it, came to England and married Sir John. He drew an awed breath. It took her only two towns away, near the Arby’s where Mike worked. So far as I'm concerned, nothing could please me more. “I am bored,” she said abruptly. Here it is.
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