Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. And there arose too, a background of shouts. It seemed as if all the precautions previously taken were here accumulated. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. He closed the door. 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.
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