Sister Angelina shook her head as if to say that such ignorance was beyond her. A riding-habit is all I have seen. Wood. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. They said no more for a moment, and each was now acutely aware of the other. 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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