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She had never had a pet, never had a real doll. 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. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. O'Higgins did not confide in me. Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. “You left the TV on when you fell asleep in the living room, so I turned it off.
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