“You cannot! Oh, you cannot. And the woollen-draper departed. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. And there's your liver. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. "Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. 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. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him.
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