The carriage stops in front of the Mansion, and a man, in his mid-twenties, walks up the steps. His hair is unkempt, he is sporting a stubble, and a rare thing for a man of the 19th century, he does not wear a hat. He looks around with curious eyes, frowns, and knocks on the door.
His horses and carriage have stopped and await him - he never did
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“Oh,” he wonders a moment, “Oh, yes, I was merely looking for the road to Plassans. Or is this the Paradou?”
Bad manners. He shakes his head at himself.
“Forgive me, good day, sir. I am the Docteur Pascal.”
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His mind races - the man must be mad. Truly and well mad. Delirium, likely, has taken hold. This gives him a very small shudder - but Pascal can hold himself.
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