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. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. Jolly nice girl, too. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. “Good, I’m so glad, Lucy. Will you tell her that?" "I will," replied Thames, earnestly. Lucy did not want to have to kill the mother, as she hated more than anything to kill women, no matter what their sins. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons.
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