Everleigh Miles
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Australia
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December 2020
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https://www.goodreads.com/everleighmilesauthor
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"I received an Advanced Reader Copy.
The star crossed lovers concept was actually really interesting to read. It was really adorable how Jasper was all star eyes when he found his fated mate. He was all in. I hated that Reid didn't want to secure the b" Read more of this review » |
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Aug 17, 2025 03:30PM
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Everleigh Miles
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Everleigh Miles
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Everleigh Miles
liked
Eve Mason's review
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The Town Filled With Alphaholes (Havermouth's Harem #2):
"The Town filled with Alphaholes
🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶🥵❤️🔥⚔️ Aislen has had enough of the town's secrets and she is taking action. She is ready to expose the rotten core of Havermouth and shine a light on those trying to silence the truth and protect the wicked. " Read more of this review » |
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"This was so good, I flew through it in a day.
I wasn’t sure how anything could develop between Aislen and the Triquetra after the events of the last book, and tbh I’m still not sure it will work out. They are so blinkered by the pack and their upbring" Read more of this review » |
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"I absolutely loved this book. Could not put it down. The character development in this book is fantastic, nothing feels forced, it feels completely natural and I was able to completely immerse myself in the story. And the spice is amazing 🥵"
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Everleigh Miles
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"
Hi,
These books have new covers: The Pack's Secret Keeper - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B7WYGZVS The Pack's Triquetra - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C1F8 ...more " |
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“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts...
There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for you, and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a good end,— [Sings.]
“For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
Thought and afflictions, passion, hell itself, She turns to favor and to prettiness.
Song. And will a not come again? And will a not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy deathbed; He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, Flaxen was his poll. He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan. God ’a’ mercy on his soul.”
―
There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for you, and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a good end,— [Sings.]
“For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
Thought and afflictions, passion, hell itself, She turns to favor and to prettiness.
Song. And will a not come again? And will a not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy deathbed; He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, Flaxen was his poll. He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan. God ’a’ mercy on his soul.”
―
“Too much of water hast thou poor Ophelia, and therefore I forbid my tears.
But yet it is our trick, let shame say what it will. when these are gone the women will be out!
Adieu my lord, I have a speech of fire that fane would blaze,
But that this folly doubts it.”
― Hamlet
But yet it is our trick, let shame say what it will. when these are gone the women will be out!
Adieu my lord, I have a speech of fire that fane would blaze,
But that this folly doubts it.”
― Hamlet
“When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
(Ophelia)”
― Hamlet
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
(Ophelia)”
― Hamlet
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