As he fell, he caught at the projecting masonry. 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. I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. ’ He frowned again.
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