In contrast with the wreckage that surrounded them the old negress was neat and clean. She wore a black cotton dress and a gingham apron and on her head was a quaint, flat-topped cap made from a folded newspaper. She seemed neither ill-disposed nor well-disposed towards Evan but regarded him simply as an amusing curiosity.
It ought not to be difficult to bend one so simple to his will, Evan thought, and set to work to conciliate her.
"Aunt Liza, you seem like a decent woman. What are you doing in a den like this?"
She affected not to understand him. "Excuse me, suh, I don' understand No'the'ners' talk very good."
"I say this is a funny looking place."
"Well, I reckon they's gwine fix it up some. Ain't had time yet. The other rooms is better than this."
"Who lives here?"
"Nobody lives here. It's a club."
"What club?"
"Ain't got no name as I knows. It's a private club."