She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. She snapped out of her blissful state and looked at him squarely in the eyes. “Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. Wood's anxiety respecting the fugitive was speedily relieved by hearing another waterman busy himself in preparation for starting; and, shortly after, the dip of a second pair of oars sounded upon the river. And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away.
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