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. Her eyebrows, pulled down by the stress of thought, now resumed their normal arches; and pleased with her discovery, she smiled. She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. “Lucy Albert, sir.
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