He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. John looked at his feet bashfully. His voice had broken. Marina gently passed the swaddled infant to his mother, who sat down on the bed proudly to nurse the baby, extracting a fat breast from her heavy gown. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely.
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