A shock at the incomprehensible brevity of his life
rushed over him. Just to that street, just as far as the curve, and his
legs were swinging along, carrying him forward at an even gait.
All at once he began talking, arguing. He tried to speak at an ordinary
tempo, but his words kept edging on faster and faster:
"Tump, I'm not going to marry Cissie Dildine."
"I knows you ain't, Peter."
"I mean, if you let me alone, I didn't mean to."
"I ain't goin' to let you alone."
"Tump, we had already decided not to marry."
After a short pause Tump said in a slightly different tone:
"'Pears lak you don' haf to ma'y her--comin' to yo' room."
A queer sinking came over the mulatto. "Listen, Tump, I--we--in my room
--we simply talked, that's all. She came to tell me she was goin away.
I--I didn't harm her, Tump." Peter swallowed. He despaired of being
believed.
But his defense only infuriated the soldier. He suddenly broke into
violent profanity.
"Hot damn you! shut yo black mouf! Whut I keer whut-chu done! You weaned
her away fum me.
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