He lighted a cigarette and flipped the match down into the street.

"I've been here three or four months.

I'm part of the Mexican revolution, though I don't reckon I look it.

We been keeping things pretty well stirred up, down this way.

You looking for picture dope?
Lubin folks are copping all kinds of good stuff here.
You ain't with them, are you ?" Jean braced herself against slipping into easy conversation with this man who seemed so friendly and unsuspicious and so conscience-free.
Killing a man, she thought, evidently did not seem to him a matter of any moment; perhaps because he had since then become a professional killer of men.