“I did it for love of you,” he said. What had Brewis Charvill to say to that, Gerald?’ ‘He had nothing to say to it. 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. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. The eyes left him, searching beside the chair for her cane.
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