The sun was higher in the sky now. The gypsy folk would bide their time for three more days, then move to a clearing at the edge of the farm, setting their vardos and pitching their tents away from Londoners, who came for the picking to live in whitewashed hopper huts and sing their bawdy songs around the fire at night. And though she would go about her business, Beulah would be waitingwaiting for the woman with her modern clothes and her tidy hair. Waiting for the woman whose sight, she knew, was as powerful as her own.
Excerpted from An Incomplete Revenge by Jacqueline Winspear Copyright © 2008 by Jacqueline Winspear. Excerpted by permission of Henry Holt And Company. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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