CHAPTER 16
On the drive to the nursery, as he called it, George was uncharacteristically silent. Benitoe let him alone and occupied himself with the people and the buildings in the town until they left it, heading east, and then he admired the mountain ridges to north and south, uniform in height.
In just a few minutes, George turned north off the main road onto a smaller one and then pulled up to a long low building and parked in the graveled lot. He came out of his private thoughts as if surprised to find the car stopped.
“Sorry to be such poor company,” he said. “I was thinking of something else.”
Benitoe waved it aside. George would tell him about the problem when, and if, he wanted to. “What is this place?”
“I’ve told you there are specialists who sell plants to anyone. Some they
