"So, do you know your way around here? Is there a Volkswagon Beetle sitting around that we can use, or public transportation? DeWitt made it seem as though I wouldn't be finding a taxi anytime soon."
"The nearest town is Jackson, and it's about twenty-two miles east of here."
"Fine. We'd better start sashaying off, then. Which way is east?"
"Maybe, we're not going to walk to Jackson."
"Fine. I didn't invite you anyway."
"Hold on. They're bound to pick us up soon. We have no food, nothing to drink, no money, as if we had a way to spend it. We may as well go back to Hacksaw Lodge."
"I didn't find DeWitt the innkeeper back there very accommodating. Is he a friend of yours, too?"
"I've been trying to tell you, I'm not working with them. They forced me to come here, and yes, they told me to hook up with you. I just don't know what else to do," she implored craftily.
"For cryin' out loud. So, what is this place? Caldwell's private resort?"
They had been dashing down the trail all this time, and found themselves in a swamp.
"Let's go down to that twig and wait," he chanted. "Maybe we can get the jump on them, if the Caldwell snakes don't see us first. I don't suppose you have a can of shaving cream or anything useful like that on you?"
"What do you think?