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Kubernetes
Programming
with Go
Programming Kubernetes Clients
and Operators Using Go and
the Kubernetes API
—
Philippe Martin
Kubernetes Programming
with Go
Programming Kubernetes Clients
and Operators Using
Go and the Kubernetes API
Philippe Martin
Kubernetes Programming with Go: Programming Kubernetes Clients and Operators
Using Go and the Kubernetes API
Philippe Martin
Blanquefort, France
Introduction������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������xix
v
Table of Contents
vi
Table of Contents
Toleration������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 65
Well-Known Labels���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 66
Writing Kubernetes Resources in Go������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 67
Importing the Package���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 67
The TypeMeta Fields�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 68
The ObjectMeta Fields����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 69
Spec and Status�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 76
Comparison with Writing YAML Manifests����������������������������������������������������������������������������� 76
A Complete Example������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 78
Conclusion���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 83
vii
Table of Contents
Conversion��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 101
Serialization������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 103
RESTMapper����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 105
Kind to Resource����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 106
Resource to Kind����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 107
Finding Resources��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 107
The DefaultRESTMapper Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������� 107
Conclusion�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 108
viii
Table of Contents
x
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Table of Contents
xi
Table of Contents
Index��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 309
xii
About the Author
Philippe Martin has been working with Kubernetes for
five years, first by creating an Operator to deploy video
CDNs into the cloud, later helping companies deploy their
applications into Kubernetes, then writing a Client to help
developers work in a Kubernetes environment. Philippe
has passed the CKAD, CKA, and CKS certifications. He has
extensive experience with distributed systems and open-
source software: he started his career 20 years ago creating
thin clients based on the Linux kernel and open-source
components. He is currently working at Red Hat on the
Development Tools team.
Philippe has been active in the development of Kubernetes, especially its
documentation, and participates in the translation of the official documentation into
French, has edited two reference books about the Kubernetes API and kubectl, and is
responsible for the French translation of the Kubernetes Dashboard. He participated in
Google Season of Docs to create the new Kubernetes API Reference section of the official
documentation and is maintaining it.
xiii
About the Technical Reviewers
Bartosz Majsak writes code for fun and profit while proudly
wearing a red fedora (also known as the Red Hat). He has
been long-time open-source contributor and Java developer
turned into Golang aficionado. Bartosz is overly enthusiastic
about coffee, open source, and speaking at conferences,
not necessarily in that order. One thing that perhaps proves
he is not a total geek is his addiction to alpine skiing (and
running).
xv
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the whole Anevia “CDN” team who started working with me on
Kubernetes back in 2018: David, Ansou, Hossam, Yassine, Étienne, Jason, and Michaël.
Special thanks to Damien Lucas for initiating this project and for having trusted us with
this challenge.
My discovery of Kubernetes has been much easier and pleasant thanks to the TGIK
channel and its numerous episodes, hosted by Joe Beda, Kris Nova, and many others.
Plus, thanks to all the Kubernetes community for such a great ecosystem!
xvii
Introduction
Back in 2017, I was working for a company building video streaming software. At the end
of that year, a small team, including me, got assigned a new job to work on deploying
the Video CDN developed by the company on Kubernetes. We decided to explore the
concept of Custom Resources and Operators to deploy this CDN.
The current Kubernetes release was 1.9, the concept of Custom Resource Definition
had just been released in 1.7, and the sample-controller repository was the only
documentation we knew of to help build an Operator. The Kubernetes ecosystem,
being especially lively, had tools appearing in the following months, specifically the
Kubebuilder SDK. Thus, our project was launched.
From that moment on, I spent numerous days exploring how to build Operators and
other programs interacting with the Kubernetes API. But the damage was done: I had
started to learn Kubernetes programming from specific to general, and it took me a long
time to fully understand the innards of the Kubernetes API.
I have written this book in the hope that it can teach new Kubernetes developers how
to program, from general to specific, with the Kubernetes API in Go.
Chapters at a Glance
The target reader for this book has some experience working with REST APIs, accessing
them either by HTTP or using clients for specific languages; and has some knowledge of
the Kubernetes platform, essentially as a user—for example, some experience deploying
such APIs or frontend applications with the help of YAML manifests.
xix
Introduction
At this point in the book, the reader should be comfortable with building Go
applications working with native resources of the Kubernetes API.
By the end of the book, the reader should be able to start building Kubernetes
operators in Go and have a very good understanding of what happens behind the scenes.
xx
CHAPTER 1
Kubernetes API
Introduction
Kubernetes is a platform to orchestrate containers operating in the declarative mode.
There are one-thousand-and-one ways to describe how the Kubernetes platform is
constructed. This book focuses on programming with the platform.
The entry point of the Kubernetes platform is the API. This chapter explores the
Kubernetes architecture by highlighting the central role of the Kubernetes API. It then
focuses on the HTTP REST nature of the Kubernetes API, and on the extensions added to
organize the many resources managed by it.
Finally, you will learn how to navigate the reference documentation effectively to be
able to extract the maximum quantity of useful information daily.
1. The API server – this is the central point on the control-plane; the
user and the various pieces of the control-plane contact this API to
create, get, delete, update, and watch resources.
1
© Philippe Martin 2023
P. Martin, Kubernetes Programming with Go, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-9026-2_1
Chapter 1 Kubernetes API Introduction
2
Chapter 1 Kubernetes API Introduction
etcd
Kubectl
---
Control-plane
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up lete,
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Controllers
wa ate
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API Server crea
te
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penAPI Specification
The Kubernetes API is an HTTP REST API. The Kubernetes team provides a specification
for this API in the OpenAPI format, either in v2 format at https://github.com/
kubernetes/kubernetes/tree/master/api/openapi-spec or in Kubernetes v1.24,
in v3 format, at https://github.com/kubernetes/kubernetes/tree/master/api/
openapi-spec/v3.
These specifications also are accessible from the API Server at these paths:
/openapi/v2 and /openapi/v3.
An OpenAPI specification is made up of various parts and, among these, are a list of
paths and a list of definitions. The paths are the URLs you use to request this API, and
for each path, the specification gives the distinct operations such as get, delete, or post.
Then for each operation, the specification indicates what are the parameters and body
format for the request, and what are the possible response codes and associated body
format for the response.
3
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conclude that she and you have some private understanding upon
the point. I told her so one day, and all the answer I received
consisted of a laugh and a blush."
It could have been nothing to the blush that rose to Robert's face
now; brow, ears, neck, all were dyed blood-red. The terrible
consciousness of how untrue this was, how untrue it was obliged to
be, was smiting him with reproachful sting. Mr. Grubb mistook the
signs.
"You think I should have taken Moat Grange myself, and procured
another home for my mother," interrupted Robert. "Most people do
think so. But, if you knew how I hated the sight of the Grange!—
never a single room of it but my poor dead father's face seemed to
rise up to confront me."
"It might have been best that you should remain in your own
home; we will not discuss it now. What I want to say is this—that if
you and Mary have been really living upon hope, I don't see why you
need live upon it any longer. A portion of your own revenues you
may surely claim, a few hundreds yearly; and Mary shall bring as
much grist to the mill on her side."
"I should like to pull myself up beyond any earthly thing," spoke
the young man, in a flash of what looked far more like despair than
hope. "If I could do it—and if Mary were my wife—I—I should have
no fear. Let us talk of this another day. Let me see her!"
Mary was just then alone in what they called the grey drawing-
room. A lovely room; as indeed all the rooms were in Mr. Grubb's
house, made so by him in his love for his wife. He went in search of
his wife, giving Robert the opportunity of seeing Mary alone.
For some months past now, Lady Adela had been pale and thin,
sick and ill. She resented the indisposition strongly, for it prevented
her joining in the gaiety she loved, and went about wishing fretfully
that her baby was born.
"Oh, Robert! Robert!"
Mary Lynn had started up with a cry, so surprised was she to see
him enter. She stood blushing even to tears. And Robert? Conscious
how unworthy he was of her, how impossible it was that he should
dare to claim her, while the love within him was beating on his heart
with lively pain, he sat down with a groan and covered his face with
his hands. She thought he was ill. She went to him and knelt down,
and looked up at him in appealing fear.
VII.
DESPERATION.
Oscar Dalrymple came in, very quiet as usual, not a speck of dust
or other sign of travel upon him, looking spick and span, as though
he had but come out of the next room. Oscar Dalrymple's place, a
small patrimony called Knutford, lay some three or four miles off; he
would probably walk on there by-and-by, if he did not sleep at the
Grange.
"I told Mrs. Dalrymple I should return before Saturday," was his
answer, as he took her hand, and kept it in his. "Where is she?"
"Not to see you; but for what you might have to tell," she
hastened to say. "Oscar, how vain you are!"
"Do you know exactly why I went up?" he inquired with some
hesitation, in doubt how far he ought to speak.
"I know all," she answered pointedly. "I saw Reuben's letter to
mamma; and her fears are my fears. We keep it from poor Alice."
Selina sat in dismay; her soft dark eyes fixed on the evening sky,
her hands clasped on the dress of blue silk she wore. The evening
star shone in the heavens.
"But you don't, surely, fear it will come to this?" she cried in
agitation.
"What would become of us? Poor mamma! Poor Alice! Oh, what a
trouble!"
"You, at least, can escape the trouble, Selina; you can let me take
you out of it. My home is not the luxurious home you have been
accustomed to here; but it will afford you every comfort—if you will
only come to it. Oh, my love, why do you let me plead to you so
long in vain!"
Selina Dalrymple pouted her pretty red lips. Oscar loved her to
folly. She did not discourage him; did not absolutely encourage him.
She liked him very well, and she liked his homage, for she was one
of the vainest girls living; but, as to marrying him?—that was
another thing. Had he possessed the rent-roll of a duke, she would
have had him tomorrow; his income was a small one, and she loved
pomp and show.
Yes, he had, but it was not his. Farmer Lee, wishing to invest a
few hundred pounds in the funds, had prayed his young landlord to
transact the business for him, and save him a journey to London.
Robert good-naturedly acquiesced. Had any man told him he could
touch that money for his own purposes, he would have knocked the
offender down in his indignation. The cheque, for the money to be
transferred, had come from Mr. Lee that morning. There it lay now,
on the table at his elbow, and there sat Robert, striving to turn his
covetous eyes from it, yet unable, for it was beginning to bear for
him the fascination of the basilisk. He wished it was in the midst of
some blazing fire, rather than lying there to tempt him. For the
notion had seized upon his mind that it was with this money, if he
might dare to stake it, he might win back a portion of what he had
lost. With a shudder he shook off the idea, and looked at his watch.
Was it too late to take the cheque to its destination? Yes, it was; the
afternoon was waning, and business places would be closed. Robert
felt half inclined to hand it to Reuben, and tell him to keep it in
safety.
While in this frame of mind, that choice friend of his, Mr. Piggott,
honoured him with a call. Whether that worthy gentleman scented
the presence of the cheque, or heard of it casually from Robert, who
was candid to a fault, certain it was that he did not leave Robert
afterwards, but sat with him until the dinner-hour, and then took him
out to dine. Robert locked up the cheque in his desk before he went.
"Sir, I carried you in my arms when you were a child; your father,
the very day he died, told me to give you a word of warning, if I saw
you going wrong; let that be my excuse for speaking to you as you
may think I have no right to do," pleaded Reuben, the tears standing
in his faithful old eyes. "Do not go out again, sir; for this night, at
any rate, stay away from the set; they are nothing but blacklegs.
There's that Piggott waiting for you outside the door."
"They are so, sir. And you are losing your substance to them; and
it won't be their fault if they don't get it all."
Robert, eager to go out to his ruin, hot with wine, would not
waste more words. He moved to the door, but Reuben moved more
quickly than he, and stood with his back against it.
"What farce is this?" cried Robert, in his temper. "Stand away from
the door, or I shall be tempted to fling you from it."
"Oh, sir, hear reason!" And the man's manner was so painfully
urgent, that a half-doubt crossed his master's mind whether he
could know what it was he was about to stake. "Three or four and
twenty years ago, Mr. Robert—I'm not sure as to a year—I stood, in
like manner, praying your uncle Claude not to go out to his ruin. He
had come to London, sir, as fine and generous a young man as you,
and the gamblers got hold of him, and drew him into their ways, and
stuck to him like a leech, till all he had was gone. Moat Grange was
played away, mortgaged, or bartered, or whatever it might be, for
the term of his life; there's a clause in its deeds, as I take it you
know, sir, that prevents its owner from encumbering it for longer—
and, perhaps, that's usual with other estates——"
"You are an idiot, Reuben," interrupted Robert, his tone less fierce.
"A night came when Mr. Claude was half mad," continued Reuben,
unheeding the interruption. "I saw he was; and I stood before him,
and prayed him not to go out with them, as I am now praying you.
It was of no use, and he went. If I tell you what that night brought
forth, sir, will you regard it as a warning?"
"I will tell you, sir, if you will take warning by it, and break with
those gamblers this night, and never go amongst them more. Will
you promise, Mr. Robert?"
"Out of the way, Reuben!" was the impatient rejoinder. "You are
getting into your dotage. If you have nothing to tell me, let me go."
Robert sat down on the nearest chair: his eyes were strained on
Reuben. Had he a foreshadowing of what was to come?
"In the morning one of the women-servants came and woke me.
Her face startled me the moment I opened my eyes; it was white
and terror-stricken, and she asked me what that stream of red
meant that had trickled from under the door of the master's
chamber. I went there when I had put a thing or two on. Master
Robert," he added, dropping his voice to a dread whisper, his
thoughts wholly back in the past, "he had indeed gone on his long
journey."
"Was he dead?"
"He had been dead for hours. The razor was lying beside him near
the door. I have never quite got over that dreadful sight: and the
thought has always haunted me that, had I understood his meaning
properly, it might have been prevented."
"His trunk—what did he get that out for?" asked Robert, after a
pause.
"He had fallen into the clutches of the same sort of people that
you have, sir, and they had fleeced him down to beggary and
shame, and he had not the resolution to leave them, and face the
poverty; that was why he did it. His worst enemy was Captain
Haughton. He is Colonel Haughton now."
"Yes, sir, the same man. He is your evil genius, and he was your
uncle's before you. The last time I saw him, in the old days, was
when we both stood together over my master's dead body; he came
in, along with others. 'He must have been stark mad,' was his
exclamation. 'Perhaps so, Captain Haughton,' I answered, 'but the
guilt lies on those who drove him so.' He took my meaning, and he
slunk away out of the room. Mr. Robert," added the old man, the
tears streaming down his cheeks, "do you know what I like to fancy
—and to hope?"
"The first time that Haughton called here upon you, sir, I knew
him, and he knew me; and I don't think he liked it. He has never
come here himself since; I don't know whether you've noticed it, sir,
he has sent that Piggott—the man that's waiting for you outside
now. Mr. Robert, you had better have fallen into the meshes of the
Fiend himself than into that man Haughton's."
"My uncle must have been insane when he did that," broke from
Robert Dalrymple.
The news had told upon Robert. His mind just then was a chaos.
Nothing tangible showing out of it, save that his plight was as bad as
his uncle Claude's had been, and that he was looking, in his
infatuation, for that night to redeem it. Could he go on with his work
—with that example before him? For a while he sat thinking, his
head bent, his eyes closed; then he rose up, and signed to Reuben
to let him pass. The latter's spirit sank within him.
"Is what I have told you of no avail, Mr. Robert? Are you still bent
on going forth to those wicked men? It will be your ruin."
"Don't go, don't go, Mr. Robert. I ask you on my bended knees."
"Get up, Reuben! don't be foolish. Perhaps I will not go. But I
must tell Piggott: I cannot keep him waiting there all night."
Mr. Piggott had been cooling his heels and his patience outside,
not blessing his young friend for the unnecessary and unexpected
delay, and not doing the opposite. He was of too equable a nature to
curse and swear: he left that to his peppery partner, Haughton.
And it was a wonder he did not go in. But Colonel Haughton had
whispered a word of caution as to Reuben, and neither of them
cared to pursue the master too persistently in the man's sight.
Robert Dalrymple spoke of his hesitation, saying he was not sure he
should play that night. He did want to keep the farce of prudence
up, even to himself.
"Yes. But——"
They entered the "hell." It is not a pleasant word for polite pens
and ears, but it is an exceedingly appropriate one. It was blazing
with light, and as hot as its name; and fiery countenances of
impassioned triumph, and agonized countenances of vacillating
suspense, and sullen countenances of despair were crowding there.
Colonel Haughton was in a private room: it was mostly kept for
himself and his friends, a choice knot of whom stood around. Poor
Robert's infatuation, under Mr. Piggott's able tuition, had returned
upon him. Down he sat at the green cloth, wild and eager.
Robert drew the cheque from his pocket, and dashed it before
Colonel Haughton. "I am prepared to stake this," he said. "Nothing
risk, nothing win. Luck must favour me tonight; even Piggott says
so, and he knows how bad it has been."
Colonel Haughton ran his spectacles over the cheque. "I see," he
said: "it will do. The risking it is your business, not ours."
"Then put your signature to it. Here by the side of the other."
It was done, and they sat down to play. "Nothing risk, nothing
win," Robert had said; he had better have said, "Nothing risk,
nothing lose;" and have acted upon it. A little past midnight, he went
staggering out of that house, a doomed man. All was over, all lost.
Farmer Lee's money, or the cheque representing it, had passed out
of his possession, and he was a criminal. A criminal in the sight of
himself, soon to be a criminal in the sight of the world; liable to be
arrested and tried at the bar of Justice, a common felon.
His face was burning without, and his brain was burning within. It
was a remarkably windy night, and he took off his hat and suffered
the breeze to blow on his miserable brow. And so he paced the
streets, going from home, not to it. Where could he go? he with the
brand of crime and shame upon him? He got to Charing Cross, and
there he halted, and listened to the different clocks striking one.
Should he turn back to South Audley Street? And encounter Reuben,
who had tried to save him, and had failed? And go to bed, and wait,
with what calmness he might, till the law claimed him? Hardly.
Anywhere but home. The breeze was stronger now: it blew from the
direction of the water. Robert Dalrymple replaced his hat, pulled it
firmly on his head to hide his eyes from the night, and dragged his
steps towards Westminster Bridge.
CHAPTER VIII.
PERVERSITY.
The nurse took up the white bundle, and laid it in the great bed,
beside Lady Adela. The little pale face was turned to her; for it was a
pale face, not a red one; and she lay looking at it. The child opened
its eyes: and, young though it was, one could see it had the
beautiful grey-blue eyes of its father. Her own brilliant yet soft brown
eyes grew fond as she gazed on the still face.
For the space of half a moment the nurse hesitated. "He was born
quite healthy, my lady; but I think he might get on better if you
nursed him. Some infants require their mother more than others do.
I suspect this one does."
A tap at the door. The nurse answered it and admitted Mr. Grubb;
she herself then retiring to the next room, which opened from this
one. He came to the bed, bent over his wife and gently kissed her.
"Oh, don't!" she cried, turning her cheek ungraciously from him,
just as she had for the most part done ever since their wedding-day.
It had grown into a habit now.
"I am very sorry it has come," she answered in fretful tones. "I'm
sure I shall be if they are going to worry me over it. You should hear
mamma go on:—and Grace, too!—with their old-fashioned notions."
"No one shall worry you," he fondly said. "Tell me, Adela, what
you would like his name to be?"
"No, no, I trust not, Adela. It is a delicate little thing; all babies
are, perhaps: and—and it is as well, you know, to be on the safe
side."
"But I should like a christening. A grand, proper christening; to be
held when I get well."
Adela lay back on the pillow, her cheeks slightly flushed with their
delicate pink, fresh and pure as the hue of a seashell, her eyes cast
upwards in thought.
"George Frederick?"
She heard the tone, she saw the wet eyelashes shading the
wonderful grey eyes, with their yearning, earnest expression. It
flashed into her mind to remember how few men were his equals, in
looks, in worth, in loving indulgence to a rebellious wife. Adela was
not quite proof against her better nature. She was not always hard.
"Adela," he breathed, his voice low with its agitation, "you do love
me a little! You surely do!"
"Just a very little—sometimes," she whispered in a half-saucy,
half-loving tone. And, when he let his face fall on hers, she for once
held it there, and welcomed the kisses from his lips.
It was all the work of the baby, his child and hers, thought he in
his glad heart. But no. Now and again, at rare intervals, Adela did
feel a spark of tenderness for him: though instead of letting it come
to fruit, of allowing him to see it, she forced it back to the coldness
she had taken up, and resolutely steeled her heart against him.
Illness had just now somewhat softened her spirit.
He went round the bed to the side where the baby lay, and looked
at it long and earnestly. The doctor had just told him that he did not
feel altogether easy on the score of the child; could not be sure that
it was likely to live.
"But you do not think it will die?" she cried, taking up some alarm.
"Oh, Francis, I should not like him to die, now he has come!"
He went round to soothe her, the word "Francis" causing his heart
to leap. For in a general way she persistently called him "Mr. Grubb,"
and not graciously either.
Lady Acorn came swiftly in; and, what he was not to tell her, Mr.
Grubb never knew. She had dressed early for church, and came
round to see Adela on her way to it. Grace was with her. One of the
daughters had married during the past year, but it was not Grace. It
was Harriet; she had espoused a little Scotch laird, Sir Sandy
MacIvor. Peppery and red, in came the countess, for she had just
heard something that vexed her; Lady Grace, so calm and still,
presented a contrast to her vivacious mother.
"Well, and now what's this I hear about things not going on well?"
began Lady Acorn, subduing her voice with difficulty to the
requisition of a sick-room.
"You are all right, Dove says—we have just met him," returned
Lady Acorn. "But he does not think the baby is. And you have
yourself to thank for it, Adela."
"Dove says the baby wants its proper food; not that gruel stuff, or
milk-and-water, or whatever rubbish it is, that it is being dosed with.
And it is not too late for you to reform, Adela, and do what you
ought."
"It is too late," retorted Adela, with flaming cheeks. "And if you
begin about it again, mamma, you will make me ill. Francis"—
stretching out her arm for her husband—"don't let me be worried.
You promised me, you know."
"Talk to her when she's better and more able to bear it!" repeated
the countess, taking up his words aloud. "Why, my good man, it
would be too late. And—you do not want to lose your child, I
suppose!"
"She is well enough, and safe enough," spoke the mother, secure
in her superior knowledge. "Adela has been an indulged girl all her
life, and you, her husband, continue the indulgence. It is not good
for her; mark you that. With regard to this caprice of hers, the not
undertaking the poor sickly baby, you ought to hold her to her duty,
Mr. Grubb, and insist upon her fulfilling it."
"There! you have driven him away now!" cried Lady Acorn, on the
eve of an explosion: for she had not seen the summons of the
nurse. "You will never go to heaven, Adela, for your wickedness to
your husband."
Adela did not make any answer: perhaps she was feeling a little
sorry in her heart: and there ensued a silence. The sweet-toned
bells, calling people to service, rang out on the air.
Mr. Grubb came in again. Feeling more alarmed in his heart at the
doctor's words than he allowed to appear, and anxious for the child,
he had written a note as the medical man left him, and sent it to a
young assistant clergyman whose lodgings were close by. He had
now called, on his way to church, ready to perform the ceremony at
once if it were wished for, and a servant had come up to inform the
nurse.
"Mr. Wilkinson has called, and is asking after you," began Mr.
Grubb to his wife, voice and demeanour a model of quietness, not to
say indifference. "It struck me, Adela, that he might as well baptize
the child—as he is here. He has time to do it before service."
"As well take the opportunity of his being here, Adela. And then it
will be over."
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