If you’ll forgive my saying that, and implying what goes with 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. Smith had never seen anything like it. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. 5. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he said reassuringly.
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