CHAPTER VIII. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. That's the sort of fool your nephew is!" "Not even a good time!" said the aunt, whimsically, as she stuffed the bills into her reticule. Manning, with a baffling smile. Wood; "and pray, don't bring anybody with you,—especially Jonathan Wild. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. 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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