There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. Of animal life, there was nothing left but monkeys and wild pig, the latter having been domesticated. The baby crawled towards them, seeking their blood. She had never understood how much knowledge had been kept from her because she was a woman and even began to doubt the methods of the Church, something she never would have dared before.
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