Betsey cried a long time that night and Lorena went up to be with her. I ain't, Lorena said. The very friendliness with which she treated him stung like a scorpion bite, for there was nothing special in it. Yet he hated waiting almost as much as he hated the traveling.
I don't care who hates who, the woman said. You oughtn't to provoke me like that, he said, looking a little hangdog. July had once tried to stop a woman who was going after her husband with a pitchfork and had been wounded in the leg as a result. There ain't a river up that way deep enough he couldn't walk through it and not get his hat wet.
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