Ms. 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. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. ‘Nothing would do for her but to come here,’ grumbled Hilary, wiping his heated brow with a pocket handkerchief dragged from his immaculate white uniform breeches. One night she apparently fell asleep. Got the tickets? Yes, but then—you said you borrowed?” “I did, too,” said Ann Veronica.
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