"I can do it," he said cheerfully, "but we haven't any time to waste. Jump in."
The shore highway led through lonely stretches of marsh and wasteland. Occasionally Norman caught the sibilant rustle of the leagues of tall stiff seagrass, and a brackish tang from the dark inlets crossed by long low bridges. The odor of the Bay.
Indistinctly he made out factories and scattered houses.
"There's a dimout some places," Alec volunteered once. He was paying close attention to the road.
They passed three or four busses without Alec making any comment.
After a long while Alec said, "That should be her."
A constellation of red and green taillights was vanishing over the rise ahead.
"About three miles to Bayport," he continued. "What should I do?"
"Just get to Bayport a little ahead of her, and stop at the bus station."
"O.K."