"You leave it to me, Anderson Crow. I know what I am doing."
They went on for about a quarter of a mile before she spoke again.
"There's only one way to turn around, and I'm taking it. How far is it to Fisher's lane?"
"You can't turn her around in Fisher's lane, Eva. It's all a good-sized dog c'n do to turn around in that road."
"I asked you how far is it?"
"'Bout a mile an' a half."
"I ain't going to turn around in Fisher's lane, Anderson. I'm going to foller it straight to the Britton toll-road, and then I'm going to turn into that and head for Tinkletown. That's how I'm going to turn this plagued car around."
"Well, of all the—why, geminently, Eva, it's—it's nigh onto nine mile. You shorely can't be such a fool as to—"
"I'm going to turn this car around if it takes twenty miles," she said firmly.
There was another long, intense silence.