“Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. “I always notice that people find it very easy to believe what they want to believe, and you see I’m not in the least popular. 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. Listen, you. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. To begin with, he struck her as being the most variable person she had ever encountered.
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