Lucy howled as tooth met bone, her arm clamped in the trap of Rhea’s huge canines. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. It is no crime, none at all. 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 has married some one he could not approve of, and gone right away. “I’ve tried to make words tell it.
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