Any sound was better, she told herself, than the dead noiselessness of the surrounding forest.
"That's the tenth mosquito I've missed," cheerily resumed Brice, slapping futilely at his own cheek.

"In the old days, they used to infest Miami.

Now they're driven back into the swamps.

But they seem just as industrious as ever, and every bit as hungry.

It must be grand to have such an appetite." As Claire disregarded this flippancy, he fell silent for a space, and together they moved on, through the thick of the swamp.