Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. The man looked hard at him. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. 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. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded.
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