“On the stage? Yes. 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. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. "Done!" cried Shotbolt.
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