There seems to be no good-time spirit to the party. Something in the air is too tense and deep for that. Lewis, seated now so that his eyes rest upon the old man, merges with his source and lets the pain and beauty of the South meet him there. White faces, pain-pollen, settle downward through a cane-sweet mist and touch the ovaries of yellow flowers. Cotton-bolls bloom, droop. Black roots twist in a parched red soil beneath a blazing sky. Magnolias, fragrant, a trifle futile, lovely, far off... His eyelids close. A force begins to heave and rise... Stella is serious, reminiscent.
Stella: Usall is brought up t hate sin worse than death—
Kabnis: An then before you have y eyes half open, youre made t love it if y want t live.
Stella: Us never—
Kabnis: Oh, I know your story: that old prim bastard over yonder, an then old Calvert’s office—
Stella: It wasnt them—
Kabnis: I know. They put y out of church, an then I guess th preacher came around an asked f some. But thats your body. Now me—
Halsey (passing him the bottle): All right, kid, we believe y. Here, take another. Wheres Clover, Stel?
Stella: You know how Jim is when he’s just out th swamp. Done up in shine an wouldnt let her come. Said he’d bust her head open if she went out.
Kabnis: Dont see why he doesnt stay over with Laura, where he belongs.