‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. This is your moment. 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. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. Mr. Books; an inexplicable hunger to be satisfied. " As Jonathan said this, Jack's hand involuntarily sought a pistol. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke.
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