They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. 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 know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. “His back was towards me,” Anna said. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. Diane, more than a little envious of the girls’ youthful excitement, set Michelle's curfew at 10:30.
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