But—Miss Pellissier!” “Well?” “Are you quite sure that you want us this evening? Wouldn’t you rather be alone? Just say the word, and we’ll clear out like a shot. She chastised herself for thinking of her husband and lord as being weak. 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. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. I cannot answer that question. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. “Oh, you know,” she said. It was something that Sebastian had refused to do, a lifestyle that he placed himself above.
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