Being Yours
'May he burn, may he rot, may he .
'Careful,' Paul interrupted. 'Don't put . . .' He broke off to nudge the van through a gap in the stream of cars. 'Don't put wishes on people,' he went on as he reached the lane he needed. 'They always come back on you.'
'Like radishes, you mean?'
He didn't respond to the joke. 'What you send out, you get back. Always.'
She glanced sideways at him from her place in the passenger seat, but he was intent on the intricacies of the Canterbury traffic system, and didn't return her gaze. His profile, steady and dark against the shifting lights of the city, showed no sign of relaxing into a smile.
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