Because
through Cissie Peter saw the whole negro race. She was flexuous and
passionate, kindly and loving, childish and naively wise; on occasion
she could falsify and steal, and in the depth of her Peter sensed a
profound capacity for fury and violence. For all her precise English,
she was untamed, perhaps untamable.
Cissie was a far cry from the sort of woman Peter imagined he wanted for
a mate; yet he knew that if he stayed on in Hooker's Bend, seeing her,
desiring her, with her luxury mocking the loneliness of the old Renfrew
manor, presently he would marry her. Already he had had his little
irrational moments when it seemed to him that Cissie herself was quite
fine and worthy and that her speculations were something foreign and did
not pertain to her at all.
He would better go North. It would be safer up there. No doubt he could
find another colored girl in the North. The thought of fondling any
other woman filled Peter with a sudden, sharp repulsion. However, Peter
was wise. He knew he would get over that in time.
With this plan in mind, Peter set out down the street, intending to
cross the Big Hill at the church, walk over to his mother's shack, and
pack his few belongings preparatory to going away.
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