Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. 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. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. I know where everything valuable is kept. Figg," replied Jack, smiling; "for, before I'm taken to Tyburn, I mean to borrow a shirt for the occasion from you.
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