Fierce and beautiful hunters who, when they ease up on their vigilance find themselves converted into coats… — Charles G. Finney

“Well,” said the chief in disgust, “there’s two people I don’t never argue with: one’s a woman and the other’s a damn fool. And you aint no woman!”

Mrs. Cassan always went to fortunetellers. When none was available she cast the cards or séanced with ouija. She had had her future foretold so many times that in order to fulfill all the forecasts she would have to live ninety-seven more years and encounter and charm a war-strength regiment of tall, dark men.

He said Heaven reminded him more than anything else of an advertisement he had once read of Southern California.