Lucile had learned early that contracts made with the body are far more binding, far more dangerous, than those made with a pen.
It was the first thing August had known about C, and it was the most important. He had known it when he met her, he thought.
The train was shaking again a storm or bad rails, it was hard to tell. In the seat next to him, Julius was asleep. It was the first time he'd shut his mouth since they left New York. There was no doubt he was a flimflammer. Talking up the panhandle like there was nothing wrong, like things were going to turn around.
August wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe a lot of things. But he'd gotten enough letters, enough telegraphs, and enough stories from his family back in Oklahoma to know something true, or at least part of something true. It all sounded like fiction to him. What he knew for certain was that New York was an unkind place. He knew that he was returning to a place that was possibly just as unkind, just as inhos