o indicate that he had discovered her allurement.
He had written in bald words the fact of her sending him on the errand
of rescue, to save her husband--and she was obliged to digest in her
mind the bare but significant phrase:

And, because she has sent me, I am glad to go!

His notes made her understand him better, but they did not reveal all
his own feelings. He wrote her down as an object of curiosity, as he
spoke of the sour face and similitude of good humour in the whiskey
boater's expression. In the same painstaking way he described her own
friendliness for a passing skiff boater. The impersonality of his
remarks about himself surprised while it perplexed her.

The mass of material which he had gathered for making articles and
stories amazed her. The stack of pages, closely typewritten, was more
than two inches thick. A few pages disclosed consecutive paragraphs with
subjects, predicates, and complete sense, but other pages showed only
disjointed phrases, words, and flashes of ideas.

The changing notes, the questioning, the observations, the minute
recording were fascinating to her. It revealed a phase of writers' lives
of which she had known nothing--the gathering of myriads of details, in
order to free the mind for accurate rendering of pictures and
conditions. She wished she could see some of the finished product of
Terabon's use of these notes, and the wish revealed a chasm, an abyss
that confronted her. She felt deserted, as though she had need of
Terabon to give her a view of his own life, that she might be diverted
into something not sordid, and decidedly not according to Augustus
Carline's ideals!

After a time, seeing that Carline's boat had disappeared down river, she
threw over her anchor, and rested in the eddy. It was on the west side,
with a chute entrance through a sandbar and willow-grown island points
opposite. She brought out her map book to see if she could learn where
she was anchored, but the printed map, with the bright red lines of
recent surveys, helped her not at all. She turned from sheet to sheet
down to Memphis, without finding what she wanted to know.

She saw some shanty-boats down the river; she saw some up the river; but
there was none near her till just before dark a motor skiff came down in
the day's gray gloom, and passed within a few yards of her. When she
looked at the two men in the boats she learned to know what fear
is--river terror--horror of mankind in its last e