A look of deep sadness grew in her somber face.
“Wid uh body like dat!” she said at last, “why yuh is goin’ aroun’ huntin’ fuh deat’?”
Crown laughed uneasily, stepped into the room, and sat at a table. He placed his elbows upon it, hunched his shoulders forward with a writhing of muscle beneath the shirt, then dropped his chin in his hands, and regarded the woman.
“I know dese hyuh niggers,” he replied. “Dey is a decent lot. Dey wouldn’t gib no nigger away tuh de w’ite folks.”
“Dat de Gawd’ trut’. Only dey is odder way ob settlin’ up er debt.”
“Serena?” he asked, with a sidelong look, and a laugh. “Dat sister gots de fear ob Gawd in she heart. I ain’t ’fraid none ob she.”
After a moment of silence he asked abruptly:
“Bess still libbin’ wid de cripple?”
“Yes; an’ she a happy, decent ’oman. Yuh bes’ leabe she alone.”
“Fer Gawd’ sake! Wut yuh tink I come tuh dis damn town fuh? I ain’t jus’ huntin’ fuh deat’! I atter my ’oman.”