Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. Sebastian slowed the car after they had traveled seventy miles into the countryside. He believed me when I asked him to marry me.
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