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«
Whyn
’
t
we
go
along
an
’
listen
?
»
Winfield
asked
.
Ruthie
gripped
his
arm
.
«
No
,
"
she
said
.
«
We
got
washed
for
them
sons
-
a
-
bitches
.
I
ain
’
t
goin
’
with
’
em
.
»
Winfield
said
,
«
You
tol
’
on
me
’
bout
the
toilet
.
I
’
m
a
-
gonna
tell
what
you
called
them
ladies
.
»
A
shadow
of
fear
crossed
Ruthie
’
s
face
.
«
Don
’
do
it
.
I
tol
’
’
cause
I
knowed
you
didn
’
really
break
it
.
»
«
You
did
not
,
"
said
Winfield
.
Ruthie
said
,
«
Le
’
s
look
aroun
’
.
»
They
strolled
down
the
line
of
tents
,
peering
into
each
one
,
gawking
self
-
consciously
.
At
the
end
of
the
unit
there
was
a
level
place
on
which
a
croquet
court
had
been
set
up
.
Half
a
dozen
children
played
seriously
.
In
front
of
a
tent
an
elderly
lady
sat
on
a
bench
and
watched
.
Ruthie
and
Winfield
broke
into
a
trot
.
«
Leave
us
play
,
"
Ruthie
cried
.
«
Leave
us
get
in
.
»
The
children
looked
up
.
A
pig
-
tailed
little
girl
said
,
«
Nex
’
game
you
kin
.
»
«
I
wanta
play
now
,
"
Ruthie
cried
.
«
Well
,
you
can
’
t
.
Not
till
nex
’
game
.
»
Ruthie
moved
menacingly
out
on
the
court
.
«
I
’
m
a
-
gonna
play
.
»
The
pig
-
tails
gripped
her
mallet
tightly
.
Ruthie
sprang
at
her
,
slapped
her
,
pushed
her
,
and
wrested
the
mallet
from
her
hands
.
«
I
says
I
was
gonna
play
,
"
she
said
triumphantly
.
