Because One Day Of Something Wonderful Is

Ghost?” St. Vincent Shot Him An Incredulous Glance. “christ. You’re Not Serious, Are You?” "i’m A Gypsy,” Cam Replied Matter-of-factly. “of Course I Believe In Ghosts.” “only Half Gypsy. 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.

Anyone Who Had Ever Read A Novel Knew That Governesses Were Supposed To Be Meek And Downtrodden.

I Closed My Eyes, Thinking, Let Me Love You, Hardy, Just Let Me.

No Miles Of Level Desert, No Jagged Mountain Heights, No Sea Of Endless Blue Neither Words Nor Tears, Nor Silent Fears Will Keep Me From Coming Back To You.

There Is Something About You That Makes Me Feel Terribly Wicked. You Make Me Want To Do Shocking Things. Maybe It's Because You're So Proper. Your Necktie Is Never Crooked, And Your Shoes Are Always Shiny. And Your Shirts Are So Starchy. Sometimes When I Look At You, I Want To Tear Off All Your Buttons. Or Set Your Trousers On Fire. I've So Often Wondered-are You Ticklish, My Lord?