Dawson sitting on the end of
a bench next to the centre aisle. She had turned half round and was
staring at him fixedly. When she caught his eye, she got up and came
towards him. Other women were talking to men near him, and no one
noticed her approach.
In the depths of her bonnet her withered face had never appeared so
hard and unrelenting. She laid her hand on his arm and looked up into
his eyes.
"Are you a seeker, John Westerfelt?" she asked, with a sneer.
"No, I am not." He tried to draw his arm away, but her bony fingers
clutched and held it.
"They say the's a chance fer all to wipe out sins," she went on, "but I
have my doubts 'bout you. You know whar you'll land. You kin mighty
nigh feel the hot now, I reckon."
He caught her wrist and tore his arm from her grasp.
"Leave me alone!" he cried; then he dropped her wrist and added: "For
Heaven sake don't--_don't_ devil me to death; you make me forget you
are a woman and not a beast--a snake! My God, let me alone!"
His angry tone had drawn the attention of a few of the bystanders. A
tall, lank countryman, standing near Westerfelt, turned on him.
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