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. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. ‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why. ” “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be friends.
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