Daemonomania: book Three of the Aegypt Cycle

Cover Daemonomania: book Three of the Aegypt Cycle
Rose Ryder said. “So happy. Pierce sometimes I just.”
    Morning light in the room, she still in the storm-tossed bed; he in the doorway in his overcoat, bag of fresh doughnuts from the Donut Hole in his hand, food of the gods for an hour or so, inedible thereafter.
    “You seem happy,” he said. She did. When she described to him how well it was all really going, her classes and the apartment and her new life, her eyes seemed to melt at last and shine soft and liquid. Fabulous, wonderful, she
... said, sounding to him like the druggies of old (himself one of them) who would recount in such terms some concert or film or street action when what their words and grins in fact referred to was their own sensations at the moment of telling.
    Stoned.
    And what was this blackness in his own breast, in his face too he imagined?
    She smiled at him and for him, and laughed lightly, and pushed his too-long-uncut hair behind his ears.
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