Quicksand
able one was she summoned up sufficient boldness to ask several women how they felt, how they managed. The answers were a resigned shrug, or an amused snort, or an upward rolling of eyeballs with a mention of “de Lawd” looking after us all.
“‘Tain‘t nothin‘, nothin‘ at all, chile,” said one, Sary Jones, who, as Helga knew, had had six children in about as many years. “Yuh all takes it too ha‘d. Jes‘ remembah et‘s natu‘al fo‘ a ‘oman to hab chilluns an‘ don‘ fret so.“
”But,” protested Helga, “I‘m always so tired and half sick. That can‘t be natural.”
“Laws, chile, we‘s all ti‘ed. An‘ Ah reckons we‘s all gwine a be ti‘ed till kingdom come. Jes‘ make de bes‘ of et, honey. Jes‘ make de bes‘ yuh can.”
Helga sighed, turning her nose away from the steaming coffee which her hostess had placed for her and against which her squeamish stomach was about to revolt. At the moment
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