It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. He did not speak for a moment. ’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in. “Yes. ’ ‘But it’s my affair, Melusine. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing.
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