"Too many cigarettes.""Same failing myself. Driver's the dog handler. Driver of the van is the other one. Just follow us, please."Five miles farther on they reached the turn-off—one of many—into the Wyanee Swamp. The foliage of the trees, almost touching overhead, quickly reduced the light to that of a late winter afternoon. The increase in the humidity was almost immediately noticeable, as was the sour, nose-wrinkl i n g miasma as they neared the swamp. A distinctly unhealthy atmosphere, or such was the first impression: but many people with a marked aversion to what passed forcivilization lived there all their lives and seemed none the worse for it.The increasingly rutted, bumpy road had become almost intolerable until they rounded a blind corner and came across the abandoned station wagon.The first essential was, apparently, that pictures be taken, and the second that McGarrity be well-placed in each one, his hand preferably resting in a proprietorial fashion on the hood. That done, the cameraman fitted a flash attachment and was reaching for the rear door when Roomer clamped his wrist not too gently.
