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. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. “I liked him, and I never undeceived him. But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there would be no escape. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. “If you think it worth while,” she answered doubtfully. "He has quite the air of one. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. " "You will never become that, Ruth.
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