Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. 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. Never in this world! Let the hotel people take care of him; it's their affair.
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