" "Why not?" rejoined Mrs. He said. "A bad business this, Van," observed Baptist, with a prolonged shake of the head. 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. As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. You’ve got me. "But I can guess what it's for.
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