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. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question. She could feel his penis pressing against her, half-erect under the starched black tuxedo pants. Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment.
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