The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. 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. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. " "Nothing in the pockets. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips.
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