‘Yes, miss. Three cars were lined up in the driveway. She made me over. 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. John stared palely. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. She could not see any relief from this anxiety except repayment, and repayment seemed impossible.
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