Mrs. Beeler.
Touching her breast.
Only here, Uncle Abe.
The old negro stares at her and Rhoda, and goes into the kitchen, feeling his own breast and shaking his head dubiously. Mrs. Beeler looks at the picture.
Do you think your Uncle Mat would mind if we took that picture down?
Rhoda unpins the picture from the wall, rolls it up, and lays it on the bookshelf. Her aunt goes on, hesitatingly.
Do you know, Rhoda, I have sometimes thought—You won't be hurt?
Rhoda.
No.
Mrs. Beeler.