He sat down beside her, wide-kneed, too, the smooth top of his head and his shirt sleeves spots in the darkness.
"Get dressed a little, Hattie, and I'll get out the car and ride you out to Forest Park Highlands."
She slowed, but did not cease to rock.
"It's so grand at home this evening, I.W. I'm too comfortable to even dress myself."
He felt for her hand in the gloom; she put it out to him.
"You huck home too much, Hattie."
"I guess I do, honey; but it's like I can never get enough of it. The first year I was a home body, and the second and third year I'm two of 'em."
"That's something you'll never hear me complain of in a woman. There's a world of good in the woman who loves her home."
"It's not that, I.W. It's because I—I never dreamed that there was anything like this coming to me. To live around in rooms, year in and year out, in the lonesomest town in the world, and then, all of a sudden, a home of your own and a hubby of your own and a daughter of your own, why—I dunno—sometimes when I think of them days it's like life was a big red devil with horns and a tail that I'd got away from. Why, if it was to get me again, I—I dunno, honey, I dunno—I—just—dunno."
"You're a good woman, Hattie, and you deserve all that's coming to you.
I wish it was more."