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. "It's a mysterious transaction altogether. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad. And always they were well satisfied. ’ She thrust him out of the room and made for the stairs. They were familiar but more massive.
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