Coffee, when her man brought it, seemed too artificial for the time and
place. She shook her head. She was not hungry.
"You must," insisted Ban. He pointed downstream where the murk lay
heavy. "We shall run into more rain. You will need the warmth and
support of food."
So, because there were only they two on the face of the known earth,
woman and man, the woman obeyed the man. To her surprise, she found that
she was hungry, ardently hungry. Both ate heartily. It was a silent
meal; little spoken except about the chances and developments of the
journey, until she got to her feet. Then she said:
"I shall never, as long as I live, wherever I go, whatever I do, know
anything like this again. I shall not want to. I want it to stand
alone."
"It will stand alone," he answered.
They met the rain within half an hour, a wall-like mass of it. It
blotted out everything around them. The roar of it cut off sound, as the
mass of it cut off sight. Fortunately the boat was now going evenly as
in an oiled groove. By feeling, Io knew that her guide was moving from
his seat, and guessed that he was bailing. The spare poncho, put in by
Miss Van Arsdale, protected her. She was jubilant with the thresh of the
rain in her face, the sweet, smooth motion of the boat beneath her, the
wild abandon of the night, which, entering into her blood, had
transmuted it into soft fire.
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