“How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. “It was only yesterday I had your letter, and you never mentioned coming over. ‘This is a private house,’ Hilary said severely, ‘and you are trespassing. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked.
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