“I just feel so awful for holding you up”“Don’t be silly”. I assured her. “To be honest I hate doing this drive on my own, so I’m glad o... the company, especially intelligent female company”. Which was the truth.“It makes a nice change to talk a girl about something other than Reality TV, Shopping or boys”. I added.“Actually, I do quite like shopping.” She chuckled, as if it were an admission of guilt.“Not into reality TV like Ellie then?” I asked.“God no!” she grimaced.“And boys?”“No, I like. “Stop it!” yelled Rashida from behind him, dressed in those brown overalls.Khozem could not speak.“Calm down,” she said to the cook.“I want him out of here, now!” yelled the cook.“I’ll speak with him for a short time, and then I’ll return to shelving the deliveries.”“I want him out now. There’s too much work to be done. You come in late every day. You have a bad attitude, and now you want some young boy taking more time out of work? Forget it. Get back in there and shelve the food.”“Don’t talk. Mike grabbed her arm. “Wait, Marianne, it way not mean anything. Maybe it's not what you think.”“Oh please! My husband is already playing me for a fool. Don't you start, too. Let go of me!” she growled, wrenching her arm free of Mike's grasp.“Marianne!” I bailed out of Mike's car, ran after her, and spun her around to face me. “Don't do anything rash. We have no way of knowing what they're doing.”“What the hell do you think they're doing, Kevin? Trading baseball cards? Crocheting? . He lay awake at night and schemed. Orwell’s was the only bar for fifty miles, north, south, or otherwise out of Dubbo. Anyone who needed a beer bad enough to drink there, which was everyone who worked the sheep stations, lived with the patter of Fred’s ideas. ‘Transportation’s the thing, mate’ was his customary refrain. He had not coined this idea, but had liked the sound of it when an impressively mustachioed stranger had espoused it one night, None of the drinkers paid much attention. No one.
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