The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver. 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. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. “There wasn’t.
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