She felt horribly, uselessly tired, her gay spirits had trickled from her in sheer physical discomfort, and in her heart an insistent question writhed like a little flame.
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"Half a dozenwillers. The real trouble will be gitting their roots out."Naomi obediently dried her eyes, but it was rather hard to keep them from getting wet again. For in her heart she knew that it was not the vulgarity of Reuben's joke which had upset her, but a certain horrible convincingness about it. It was not so merely a joke as he would have her think.Her father still said nothing."Quite soand that's what makes me pity you," and suddenly her eyes kindled, blazed, as with her spirit itself for fuel"I pity you, I pity youpoor, poor man!""'Tis welllet this man be recalled."
