little crap, dat's all. You ought not to quarrel if I pleasure mysef a lil."
"I can smell de stench o Cinder's scent on you, so you needn' lie to me. I ain' no fool. I got some sense—some sense"
July shrugged. "If you got so much sense, whyn' you bank de fire last night? E's dead as a wedge. Now I got to go borrow a piece from somebody to hotten me some victuals to eat."
He knelt on the hearth, muttering and stirring among the ashes, moving blackened chunks of wood, trying to find a live ember. When he found one he laid a fat splinter on it and blew it into a blaze. Mary wept quietly for she could think of no words to tell July how hurt she was, how utterly grieved at the way he was doing her now. She'd forgive him if he would only come sit on the bed beside her and hold her hand and ask her pardon. She was even willing to get up and go to him and beg his pardon for being vexed, if he would only look at her. But he didn't. He ate some food and left her without saying good-by.
