She wanted to give up.
The motor coughed.
Walt was almost upon her; elation throbbed in his being. He had been driving on manual; he dared not risk automatic-drive, not since his wreck. He was not quite as alert as he might have been. The strain was beginning to slow his reactions.
The curve was sharper; ahead, a hair-pin turn. Walt swung out to pass her and force her to stop or plunge over the side into the deepening valley. It was the maneuver he had seen the policemen perform.
The headlights of the early farmer with a heavy load of milk suddenly exploded at the curve.
Julia gasped and slammed on her brakes.
Walt jerked his eyes from Julia's car an instant before the crash.
"Crazy God damned fool," the farmer said as he crawled painfully from the wreckage of his pick-up truck. "Crazy God damned fool!" He clutched at his arm; it was broken and bleeding. "Passing on a curve! God damned fool, passing on a curve!"
Julia had stopped her car. She ran toward the two wrecks.