She motioned me to be silent. Her ears, sharper than mine, or more attentive, had heard voices. They were negro voices, a man's and a woman's. We drew deeper into the shadow of the cedar.
"So you got no mo' use for me, nigger?" The man's voice rumbled softly and threatened like distant thunder. "Yo' got to have yo' fling?"
Then the woman's voice, shrill but subdued: "I don' love you no mo', Frank."
"You got er nice home 'n nice lil' babies, 'n you goin' to leave 'em fo' a yaller man—is you?"
They were opposite us now, walking very slowly and occasionally lurching against each other.
"Yo' ain't goin' ter make trouble, Frank?"
"I ain't goin' ter give you up, Lily."
"You ain't? How you goin' ter fix fo' ter keep me?"
They came to a halt and faced each other, the woman defensive and defiant, the man somber, quiet, with a certain savage dignity and slowly smoldering like an inactive volcano. You couldn't see their features, only a white flashing of eyes and teeth in such light as there was.
"You's one er dese new women," said the man softly. "You's got ter be boss 'n have yo' own way."