He groaned, and was restive again. "De doctah say no use—de oil ent no good."
"No?" there was a quiet suspense in her voice.
"No bloomin' good!" he flung, unearthing some of the old asperity.
"Don't, Lucian," she entreated, "fomembah Jesus."
"Oh, God, dis han'!" he groaned, tossing fiercely.
He ruffled the sheets, and a lizard, a big lanky bark-hued one, slid down the trunk of the cocoanut tree, after some gawkier prey.
"An' dey ent try nutton else," she said, again exhuming the handkerchief.
"Oh, dese Yankees don't cyah wuh de do to yo'—dey don't cyah. Duh wouldn't even giv' yo' a drop o' hot wattah, if yo' ask me. No, dey ent try nutton else."
"Hush, don't cry, Gerald," she said, hunting for a piece of Chinese candy, "yo' mustn't cry, son."