"So, do you know your way around here? Is there a Ford Fiesta sitting around that we can use, or public transportation? Samuel made it seem as though I wouldn't be finding a taxi anytime soon."
"The nearest town is Wilmington, and it's about twenty-nine miles west of here."
"Fine. We'd better start bolting off, then. Which way is west?"
"Be still, my beating heart, we're not going to walk to Wilmington."
"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 Muffin Lodge."
"I didn't find Samuel 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 persisted nicely.
"Never. So, what is this place? Rudd's private resort?"
They had been proceeding down the trail all this time, and found themselves in a marsh.
"Let's go down to that weed and wait," he grunted. "Maybe we can get the jump on them, if the Rudd blackguards don't see us first. I don't suppose you have a pop gun or anything useful like that on you?"
"What do you think?