“Fine. That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. Was she a fool to wish a person of a disposition altogether not pleasing to marry her? Was it not true that he made a game with her very often? Had he not been extremely interfering from the beginning? And had he not kissed her, just when— Her thoughts skidded to a stop. He would come swiftly to her aid, she knew it. As they kissed goodbye, she hoped that he felt the same reluctance to part. 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. ‘I live in Kent. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. .
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