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354 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 2001
"Dachas," she said, "is, I'm told, Gaelic for hope."
."You're back early."
"A bit. Hello, Lieutenant."
At the sound of his voice, that subtle and rich lilt of Ireland, everything inside her tumbled. Then he smiled, just the faintest curve of his lips, and she took a step toward him.
"It is he that saith not Kismet."
"It is he who knows not fate."
"You pompous, egotistical, ignorant fuckhead."
The Irish in it occasionally gave her a strange thrill, along with misty images of warriors and fragrant fires. And poetry, she supposed ...
"I love you.
Darling Eve."