Then Sheila noticed the stains. “Call me Annabel. They were horrible people. I never forgive an injury. Another picture slid across her vision. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. 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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