He was working at the chute mouth when Bland came to ask for that
loan. He continued to work there. Not long after he noticed Bland
leave his own house and go down the flat, he saw Myra coming along the
bank. That was nothing. There was a well-beaten path there that she
traveled nearly every afternoon. He felt his first tentative misgiving
when he saw that Myra did not stop at the house, that she walked past
and straight towards where he worked. And this slight misgiving grew
to a certainty of impending trouble when she came up, when she faced
him. Movement and the crisp air had kindled a glow in her cheeks. But
something besides the winter air had kindled an almost unnatural glow
in her eyes. They were like dusky pansies. She was, he thought, with
curious self-detachment, a strikingly beautiful woman. And he recalled
that anger or excitement, any emotion that stirred her, always made
her seem more alluring, always made her glow and sparkle as if in such
moments she was a perfect human jewel, flashing in the sun of life.
She nodded to Hollister, looked down on the cedar blocks floating in
the cold river, stood a moment to watch the swift descent of other
bolts hurtling down the chute and joining their fellows with
successive splashes.
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