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and English still surviving in her speech, with what I believe was
a slight alcoholic overtone. But why, I kept wondering, should these
simple words of every day speech convey such hopelessness and despair?

A straight mulatto girl came up the path carrying a battered oil
can and a small bundle of broom straw. "Here's the kerosene, Ma," she
said to Hester. "Mr. Charlie say fill up de lamp 'fore he get here,
but he says he specks ter be late caze he gwine to de chicken fight over
in Green."

Encouraged by this I decided to find out more if possible about
this pathetic old Negro. "Doan take dat green broom straw in de house,
Rose," said Hester, "de fros' ain't fell on hit yet on I'se done had
'nough bad luck 'thout that. Us can make de broom outside, I reckon.
Don't reckon Mr. Charlie give you no money did he, Rose?" asked Hester.
The girl untied the corner of a large besmudged handkerchief and dis-
played a twenty-five cent piece. "This all he gimme fer de church
supper." I recalled the Negro church that I had passed in the woods
near the big road. I had also noticed the barbecue pits and a number
of Negroes busy nailing up long rough tables. In fact I had been
directed to the Johnson place from there. Here at last was the open
door. Hester would talk of religion, I felt sure, any Negro will, the
thing buried deep in their beings.

And so I asked if she were a member of Good Hope Church, and if
she was going to the supper with Rose. If she had heard the door of
destiny slam shut in her face at that moment she could not have looked
more bleak. She sat motionless for a few seconds, then slowly raised
her heaad, and looking not at me but far beyond said:
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