He had taken it back. " "Your hesitation is not in your favour," observed Trenchard, sternly. 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. And he liked her. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears.
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