‘So this is Pottiswick’s French spy. ’ Gerald stood back, and watched her cross the room to the closed French doors. "I thought it best that you should imagine him. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. “I came directly I was disengaged,” Anna answered. 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. Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s. “I’m really very sorry. That is why I am here. ‘You said it.
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