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. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. Michelle moaned and whined, and Diane resigned herself to 11:00. The twenty pounds burned with avidity.
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