“Judith’s her own mistress. She can use her ruthers,” returned Jephthah briefly, “but I misdoubt that you’ll be greatly troubled with her company.”
“Help me git my things out of the cupboard thar, Jude, won’t ye?” asked Blatch civilly enough.
Without reply, without glancing at him, Judith preceded him into the fore-room, opened the doors and sought out his clean clothing, making it into a neat pile on the table.
“You come over and see me sometimes, won’t ye, Judy?” whispered the tall man as he bundled these up. “I won’t tell who I seen you with.”
Judith looked at him with wordless contempt. Her own pain was so great that even anger was swallowed up in it.
“Tell anybody you’re a mind to,” she said listlessly. “I ain’t a-carin’.”
“I may git word of him, Jude,” persisted Blatch as he was departing. “Ef I do would you wish to hear it? Ef you say yes, I’ll send ye notice.”
Again she glanced at him with that negligent disdain. What could he do to her now who had lost all? She was beyond the reach of his love or his malice.