Nigel Ennison was my very good friend, but there is not the slightest reason for your not marrying him, if you wish to do so. 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. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me.
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