You must—you shall be mine. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep 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. Nor was Jack by any means the only stripling in the room. I’m not such a bad sort. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. These thoughts, however, came to a broken end.
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