I always fall on my feet, you know. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. pgdp. Then he turned on his heel and walked off. 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.
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