Walking into the bedroom, she quickly shed the miniskirt and sweater, folding them without ceremony. ‘—and I love your raven hair, and your bright blue eyes, and your very kissable lips—’ suiting the action to the words ‘—and I love the crazy way you speak English, and the way you curse at me. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Another car followed, a rusty Cadillac sedan full of kids. “I do.
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