Prudence twinkled at them, and reached out to pat Melusine’s hand. “Because I hate you!” She spat. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. ’ ‘Precisely. ’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. But what else he saw fit to teach her I do not care to stipulate. 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. Why are you so anxious?" "Oh, if you can't see your way….
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