“I'm goin' to eat in a minute, but I want to talk to you first,” he said, sitting down and holding her closely. “Besides, that water ain't like coffee. Gettin' cold won't spoil it none. Now, listen. You're the only one I got in this world. You wasn't afraid of me an' what I just done, an' I'm glad of that. Now we'll forget all about Mary. I got charity enough. I'm just as sorry for her as you. I'd do anything for her. I'd wash her feet for her like Christ did. I'd let her eat at my table, an' sleep under my roof. But all that ain't no reason I should touch anything she's earned. Now forget her. It's you an' me, Saxon, only you an' me an' to hell with the rest of the world. Nothing else counts. You won't never have to be afraid of me again. Whisky an' I don't mix very well, so I'm goin' to cut whisky out. I've been clean off my nut, an' I ain't treated you altogether right. But that's all past. It won't never happen again. I'm goin' to start out fresh.
“Now take this thing. I oughtn't to acted so hasty. But I did. I oughta talked it over. But I didn't. My damned temper got the best of me, an' you know I got one. If a fellow can keep his temper in boxin', why he can keep it in bein' married, too. Only this got me too sudden-like. It's something I can't stomach, that I never could stomach. An' you wouldn't want me to any more'n I'd want you to stomach something you just couldn't.”
She sat up straight on his knees and looked at him, afire with an idea.
“You mean that, Billy?”
“Sure I do.”
“Then I'll tell you something I can't stomach any more. I'll die if I have to.”
“Well?” he questioned, after a searching pause.
“It's up to you,” she said.
“Then fire away.”
“You don't know what you're letting yourself in for,” she warned. “Maybe you'd better back out before it's too late.”