After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. 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 screamed in pain, doubling over with a howl as she stumbled out of the bed. "You were a little out of your head. ‘But what will happen to Lucia? Are we to kill her?’ ‘Of course not. Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. Let's go up and see how the patient is doing.
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