She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. I could not love you else. 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. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. Wood. ‘Keep your distance! You dare to tell me I cannot refuse?’ He glared at the girl. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him.
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