“Hants.”
“Was that what made you run?”
“Who was running?”
“You were.”
“Oh, was I? Reckon you’d have run too.”
“Yep.”
“What was it?”
“You never mind.”
She was evidently in a vile, bad temper; so he took his seat on the sand waiting for her to cool. Then, hat in hand, she came and sat close beside him, more out of a desire for company than friendship, he imagined; then, placing the hat to dry, she began examining the sole of her right foot, spreading the toes apart and brushing off the sand.