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“I don’t think I want one after all,” she mumbled, placing the little ring gently onto the cloth. “We’ll take it,” St. Vincent stunned her by saying. He picked up the gold circlet. As Evie glanced up at him with wide eyes, he added curtly, “They’re just words. It means nothing.”
Just as Evie thought he had fallen asleep, he murmured, “Where shall we walk first today, lovey? The biscuit baker, I s’pose…” Realizing that he imagined this was one of her long-ago childhood visits, Evie replied softly, “Oh yes.” Hastily she knuckled away the excess moisture from her eyes. “I want an iced bun…and a cone of broken biscuits…and then I want to come back here and play dice with you.”
“I’m a Rom,” Cam replied matter-of-factly. “Of course I believe in ghosts.” “Only half Romany. Which led me to assume that the rest of you was at least marginally sane and rational.” “The other half is Irish,” Cam said, a touch apologetically. “Christ,” St. Vincent said again, shaking his head as he strode away.
“You need to go to bed,” he continued, his own breathing not quite steady as he eased her closer. His gaze drifted slowly from her face to the round outline of her breasts, and back again, and a low, humorless laugh escaped him. “And I need to go there with you, damn it. But since I can’t…Come here.”