I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. 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. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. The boy’s besotted. "I didn't think you'd been so easily fooled, Joan. ‘No, but I seen the light, sir. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon.
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