His last actions were futile. You denied it, remembering that I had called myself Anna. 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. She heard him crash against it, and turned the key in the lock. Wild will hang me. But I was portentous, I can assure you.
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