1 July. His spiders are now as great a nuisance as his flies. So today I told him that he must get rid of them. He looked very sad at this, so I said that he must get rid of some spiders, at least. He cheerfully agreed to this, and I gave him the same three days as before for the reduction.

He disgusted me much while I was with him. A horrid fly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room. Renfew caught it, and held it exultantly for a few moments between his finger and thumb. Then before I knew what he was going to do, he put it in his mouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that it was very good and very healthy. It was life, strong life, and it gave life to him. This gave me an idea, or better, the start of an idea. I must watch how he gets rid of his spiders.

Renfew has evidently some deep problem in his mind. He keeps a little notebook in which he is always jotting down something. Whole pages of the notebook are filled with masses of figures. These are generally single numbers added up in batches, and then the totals added in batches again. It is as as though he were preparing some account, as the auditors say.