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Was she so unworthy of love, that she’d had so little of it in her life? Did she lack some essential gift for drawing others to herself?
“Give her to me,” Sebastian said, his voice hoarse with fury. “Now, you pile of gutter sludge, or I’ll rip your throat out.”
Sometimes the fractures in two separate souls became the very hinges that held them together.
“He’s not going to die, you know. It’s only nice, saintly people who suffer untimely deaths.” She gave a quiet laugh. “Whereas selfish bastards like St. Vincent live to torment other people for decades.”
Annabelle settled back into her chair and asked Evie, “Has he reformed, dear?” Thinking of the tender, wicked, loving husband who awaited her downstairs, Evie felt her smile broaden into a grin. “Just enough,” she replied softly, and would say no more.