"Just
look at that Melanctha there a running. Don't she just go like a bird
when she is flying. Hey Melanctha there, I come and catch you, hey
Melanctha, I put salt on your tail to catch you," and then the man
would try to catch her, and he would fall full on the earth and roll
in an agony of wide-mouthed shouting laughter. And this was the kind
of way Rose always liked to have Melanctha do it, to be engaged to
him, and to have a good warm nigger time with colored men, not to go
about with that kind of white man, never could know how to act right,
to any decent kind of girl they could ever get to be with them.
Rose, always more and more, liked Melanctha Herbert better. Rose often
had to scold Melanctha Herbert, but that only made her like Melanctha
better. And then Melanctha always listened to her, and always acted
every way she could to please her. And then Rose was so sorry for
Melanctha, when she was so blue sometimes, and wanted somebody should
come and kill her.
And Melanctha Herbert clung to Rose in the hope that Rose could
save her. Melanctha felt the power of Rose's selfish, decent kind of
nature. It was so solid, simple, certain to her. Melanctha clung to
Rose, she loved to have her scold her, she always wanted to be with
her. She always felt a solid safety in her; Rose always was, in her
way, very good to let Melanctha be loving to her.
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