"Do you mean," she said, "there are things--things in it that had
better be kept out?"
"No," I said, "there weren't any 'things' in it----"
"There couldn't be," she said superbly. "Not things we'd want to
hide."
I said there weren't. It wasn't "things" at all. I shut my eyes and
went at it head downward.
It was, somehow, the whole thing.
"The whole thing?" she said, and I saw that I had hit her hard.
"The whole thing," I said.
She looked scared for a moment. Then she rallied.
"But it's the whole thing we want. He wanted it. I know he did. He
wanted to be represented completely or not at all. As he stood. As
he stood," she reiterated.
She had given me the word I wanted. I could do it gently now.
"That's it," I said. "These 'Memoirs' won't represent him."
Subtlety, diabolic or divine, was given me. I went at it like a man
inspired.
"They won't do him justice. They'll do him harm."
"Harm?" She breathed it with an audible fright.
"Very great harm. They give a wrong impression, an impression
of--of----"