And the grotesquest fact was that she did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation this strange sensation of being kissed. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. 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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