She gasped with pain, but she did not release her grip. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. ‘Oh, are there? You are not quite alone in these adventures of yours, I take it. 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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