Around the next bend of the road there was a structure; Nat peered at it, wondering what it was. Old, shabby, abandoned-looking . . . he realized all at once that he was seeing a gas station. Left over from the days of internal combustion engine autos. He was thunderstruck. “An antique,” Molly said. “A relic! How bizarre. Maybe we ought to stop and look at it. It’s historical, like an old fort or an old adobe mill; please, Nat, stop the damn cab.” Nat punched buttons on the dashboard and the auto-cab, groaning in an anguish of friction and malconceived self-cues, came to a stop before the
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