"From Lexington."
"Whut's that?"
"A town—a little city."
"I don't like city people!"
The sentence sprang forth spontaneously, and she looked displeased.
"Why?"
I did not receive an answer. She was kicking a small bunch of moss with the toe of her ugly, coarse shoe, which was rusty, and laced with a string. But for all its shapelessness, the shoe was very small.
"Why don't you like city people?"
"'Cause Buck says they're mean an' stuck up!"
She flashed the sentence at me with a rapid glance of defiance.