He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. 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. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him.
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