"I see you're awake," Lucky said, coming inside the cabin. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing you would understand. Why did you tie him out there, Lucky?"
"Why do you think? Do we have to talk about it?"
"Not if you don't want to, I guess."
"I found something to drink," Lucky told her. "Want some?"
She shook her head and Lucky poured just one drink. He downed it in a gulp and Jeanne-Marie told him, "Keep drinking like that and you're going to get drunk."
He poured and drank another. "Don't I know it, baby. But they won't have any liquor where they want to send me, either. A man gets to appreciate—sure you don't want some?"
"I'm positive, thank you." He's very matter-of-fact about it, Jeanne-Marie thought. He's as matter-of-fact about enjoying his liquor now as he is about killing me if I try to get away or about making love to me if I stay here.
She looked at him. Lucky's altered behavior had not changed the fact that Lucky was an attractive hunk of man. And that's what she was here for, wasn't it? Romantic adventure. If in choosing the easy way out, she also satisfied a lifelong whim too.... What am I thinking about? she asked herself. It would satisfy him now and maybe afterwards, with the drink and everything, he'd even go to sleep and I'll be able to run somewhere for help. And anyway, it isn't me. It isn't my body. It isn't Mary-Jean. It's Jeanne-Marie. But there's no such person as Jeanne-Marie. Tomorrow, when I see the peddler at precisely four-fifteen back home....
If I see him, she thought wildly. Because I'm a prisoner now.