lie ‚Äôcause it ain‚Äôt. Sometimes I lies,‚Äù she reflected pensively, ‚Äúand sometimes I don‚Äôt‚ÅÝ‚Äîit depends.‚Äù
Miss Taylor forgot her collar, and fingered the pin on the desk. She felt at once a desperate desire to know this girl better and to establish her own authority. Yet how should she do it? She kept toying with the pin, and Zora watched her. Then Miss Taylor said, absently:
“Zora, what do you propose to do when you grow up?”
Zora considered.
‚ÄúThink and walk‚ÅÝ‚Äîand rest,‚Äù she concluded.
“I mean, what work?”
‚ÄúWork? Oh, I shan‚Äôt work. I don‚Äôt like work‚ÅÝ‚Äîdo you?‚Äù
Miss Taylor winced, wondering if the girl were lying again. She said quickly:
‚ÄúWhy, yes‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat is, I like some kinds of work.‚Äù
“What kinds?”
But Miss Taylor refused to have the matter made personal, as Zora had a disconcerting way of pointing all their discussions.
“Everybody likes some kinds of work,” she insisted.
“If you likes it, it ain’t work,” declared Zora; but Mary Taylor proceeded around her circumscribed circle:
“You might make a good cook, or a maid.”
“I hate cooking. What’s a maid?”
“Why, a woman who helps others.”