‘Certainly I am catholique. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. 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. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man.
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