An ancient smile lay on his lips. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. This ice was used for refrigerator purposes and for McClintock's evening peg. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. 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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