“Me? I guess I run the outfit. We’ve got along all right so far, haven’t we, Stella?”
Stella didn’t say anything. She shifted uncomfortably and her short skirt rode up a few inches. Denny could see a long expanse of bare thigh and he pursed his lips. If it wasn’t for Gerda in the back, he could go for this honey in a big way he told himself.
They swept through Port Orange and on to the U.S. Highway 1. They were now in the heart of the East Coast citrus country and the road curved across lowland meadows, pink with rose mallow. The mandarin trees were heavy with fruit. Denny thought it was all very beautiful.
“This part of the country does things to me,” he said. “Don’t you think it’s swell?”
Stella said: “You don’t think of the ugly things in life after this, do you?” She spoke very tensely, as if she meant every word.
Denny glanced at her curiously. He wondered what sort of a life she had been leading. She didn’t look like a little tramp. He shook his head, giving up.
They stopped at New Smyrna for petrol. Evening was drawing on rapidly and the sun, wrapped in a yellowish haze, was sinking behind the skyline. Denny got out of the car to stretch his legs and the two girls followed his example. Up the road they could see a long line of trucks moving slowly towards them, crowded with farm hands and bedding.
Denny asked the mechanic who was operating the gasoline pump what it was all about.
The man shrugged. “Oh, I guess they’re coming in because of the hurricane,” he said indifferently. “The radio says it’ll hit us before long.”
Denny felt a sudden wave of apprehension. “Listen, I’m goin’ through to Miami tonight. This hurricane won’t stop me, will it?”