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She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. 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. “I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason. He’ll do. The world had not passed by but had gone around it in a tremendous half-circle. ” Anna shook hands with Brendon—a young man also, but older and more selfpossessed than Sydney Courtlaw. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them.
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