Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. God help me. Earles was absolutely indifferent. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. 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. Three short days.
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