’ ‘Indeed?’ said Gerald, surprised. ‘Poor Hilary. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. Miss Mary to the life, I said, and so she is. In a sense it alters nothing. "Put it under my pillow," he said.
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