“We have ta go o’er a few ground rules, Genevieve,” Declan says in a stern tone right before he looks at me closer. “Is dat me shirt?” he asks, appalled. I shrug, “Could be—where’d you leave it?” I ask. “’TIS me lucky shirt, Genevieve! Ye blighter! Ye took it from me room—are dose my pants, too?” he accuses
