The cab whirled away and U-turned toward Vermont.
She felt better to be moving.
And ten minutes later she was arguing with a salesman.
"This will do," she insisted. "I don't want a triple-guarantee, a road test, a service check, a—"
"I'll have to make out a bill of sale."
"All I want to know is: Is the gas tank full?"
Indignantly, the salesman said: "Of course."
"Mail me the bill of sale! Tear it up! I don't care! Here—Here's my hotel." After thrusting the card on him, she began to count money.
"The keys are in the ignition. I'll get your extra set. The license—" He began to recount the money.
She got behind the wheel, snapped on the lights, pressed the ignition button. The motor coughed and roared.