"Gal playin' sick! Gal only playin' sick, dat what de mattah wit' she. Gal only playin' sick. Get up, yo' miss!"
"God—don't, Sissie, leave she alone."
"Go back, every dam one o' yo', all yo' gwine get in de way."
Beryl, little naked brown legs apart, was flat upon the hard, bare earth. The dog, perhaps, or the echo of some fugitive wind had blown up her little crocus bag dress. It lay like a cocoanut flap-jack on her stomach....
"Bring she inside, Coggins, wait I gwine fix de bed."
Mahogany bed ... West Indian peasants sporting a mahogany bed; canopied with a dusty grimy slice of cheesecloth....
Coggins stood up by the lamp on the wall, looking on at Sissie prying up Beryl's eyelids.
"Open yo' eyes ... open yo' eyes ... betcha the little vagabon' is playin' sick."
Indolently Coggins stirred. A fist shot up—then down. "Move, Sissie, befo' Ah hit yo'." The woman dodged.
"Always wantin' fo' hit me fo' nuttin', like I is any picknee."