“Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin. It was a dead calm. "I'll need a job when I quit this bed. 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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