was for ever sealed on her eyelids. He was dressed differently. He was a town man now. But he was still slim and straight, and the words fell from his lips with the same bold laugh she remembered so well.
It was not the sight of his money that kept her silent, but July did not understand. "Kiss me, gal. Say you glad I come home." He stepped forward with confidence, and Mary felt she must yield, but she caught herself.
"Don' put you hand on me again, July! Don' touch me! Take you money an' go. Get out o my yard. Me an' my chillen don' want not a brownie you got! Not one."
"Chillen?" July asked. "You got chillen? Si May-e?"
Mary placed her hands on her hips and held her head high. "Sho I got chillen." She laughed. "I got plenty o chillen! Plenty! Dey ain' none o you-own, July, so it ain' none o you business how many I got."
In spite of her laugh she shivered as a still tree shivers under a sudden gust of cold wind. He must not stay here and break her heart again. She must send him away, even if it wrung her flesh in two. Yet the bare thought of letting him go made the life in her dwindle.
She had taught her lips to laugh and sneer
