“Well, the battle’s over, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s just begun.”
“Just begun?” echoed Mary in amazement.
‚ÄúThink of the servile black folk, the half awakened restless whites, the fat land waiting for the harvest, the masses panting to know‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhy, the battle is scarcely even begun.‚Äù
“Yes, I guess that’s so,” Mary began to comprehend. “We’ll thank God it has begun, though.”
“Thank God!” Zora reverently repeated.
“Come, let’s go back to poor, dear Miss Smith,” suggested Mary.
‚ÄúI can‚Äôt come just now‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut pretty soon.‚Äù
‚ÄúWhy? Oh, I see; you‚Äôre trying on something‚ÅÝ‚Äîhow pretty and becoming! Well, hurry.‚Äù
As they stood together, the white woman deemed the moment opportune; she slipped her arm about the black woman’s waist and began:
“Zora, I’ve had something on my mind for a long time, and I shouldn’t wonder if you had thought of the same thing.”
“What is it?”
“Bles and Emma.”
“What of them?”
“Their liking for each other.”
Zora bent a moment and caught up the folds of the Fleece.