tiresome response about finding a man. I decided to ask the same thing again. “T want to know what my purpose is in life.” She raised a brow as if she found the question entirely bland, picked a card from the top of the deck, and set it faceup on the table. I stared at it, my stomach on the floor. The Devil. A puff of Madame Richie’s cigarette smoke circled the card, a little humor in her voice. “Vell . . . this is interesting.” Calmly, I got to my feet and headed to the door. “That vill be fifty dollars,” she hollered after me. OceanofPDF.com