This time she really was angry. The blood was in her cheeks as she turned on him.
“My men are not niggers. The sooner you understand that the better for our acquaintance. As for the tinned goods, I’ll pay for all they eat. Please don’t worry about that. Worry is not good for you in your condition. And I won’t stay any longer than I have to—just long enough to get you on your feet, and not go away with the feeling of having deserted a white man.”
“You’re American, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.
The question disconcerted her for the moment.
“Yes,” she vouchsafed, with a defiant look. “Why?”
“Nothing. I merely thought so.”
“Anything further?”
He shook his head.
“Why?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing. I thought you might have something pleasant to say.”