She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. ‘You kissed me that you might make me find it for you instead?’ ‘I had no such intention. ’ ‘I do not tell you why,’ the lady uttered flatly. 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. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. The whole affair interested him deeply. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled.
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