His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. “But I must, I will,” he answered fiercely. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind. But he was not a father one could make much of. A brief calm succeeded. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come.
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