An' how will you like that, Willie?
How will you like to see your mother in a straitjacket an' a padded cell, shut out from the light of the sun an' beaten like a nigger before the war, Willie, beaten an' clubbed like a regular black nigger?
That's the kind of a father you've got, Willie.

Think of it, Willie, in a padded cell, the mother that bore you, with the lunatics screechin' an' screamin' all around, an' the quick-lime eatin' into the dead bodies of them that's beaten to death by the cruel wardens--" She continued tirelessly, painting with pessimistic strokes the growing black future her husband was meditating for her, while the boy, fearful of some vague, incomprehensible catastrophe, began to weep silently, with a pendulous, trembling underlip.

Saxon, for the moment, lost control of herself.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, can't we be together five minutes without quarreling ?" she blazed.
Sarah broke off from asylum conjurations and turned upon her sister-in-law.
"Who's quarreling?
Can't I open my head without bein' jumped on by the two of you ?" Saxon shrugged her shoulders despairingly, and Sarah swung about on her husband.
"Seein' you love your sister so much better than your wife, why did you want to marry me, that's borne your children for you, an' slaved for you, an' toiled for you, an' worked her fingernails off for you, with no thanks, an 'insultin' me before the children, an' sayin' I'm crazy to their faces.

An' what have you ever did for me?
That's what I want to know--me, that's cooked for you, an' washed your stinkin' clothes, and fixed your socks, an' sat up nights with your brats when they was ailin'.

Look at that!" She thrust out a shapeless, swollen foot, encased in a monstrous, untended shoe, the dry, raw leather of which showed white on the edges of bulging cracks.
"Look at that! That's what I say.