That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. ’ ‘Don’t you dare. 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. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Something forbade him to draw her toward him and seal the compact with a kiss. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. From other obscure hints dropped by the speakers, Mrs. He rose, steadied himself, then walked out of the dining room.
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