“What did it matter?” she cried. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. She would buy a Greyhound ticket to New Orleans, make a kill or two, then travel into Texas and seduce some wandering man into taking her to Mexico, feast upon him once they got there. If he could keep it up—style and calibre of imagination—within a year the name of Taber would become widely known. White, my landlady, believes his story.
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