She would be extraordinarily interesting as a metaphysical study. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. 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. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. ‘I fear you mistake, Emile.
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