The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout. He’ll survive. I asked him to take me away, and hide me. 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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