“It couldn’t be. “Are you going to the Vorsack’s for dinner tonight?” “Yes, I think I’ll stop by. ” “I’m not surprised at it. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. 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.
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