The door closed softly upon her. “I feel justified then,” he said, “in annexing his chair. "You know this is a pet project. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. The likeness was ridiculous. 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.
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