"
Blaze confessed. "I reckon I've got the willies. Every woman I see
looks like that dam' dressmaker."
"Paloma was telling me about you. Why do you hate her so?"
"I don't know's I hate her, but her and her husband have put a
jinx on me. They're the worst people I ever see, Miz Austin."
"You don't really believe in such things?"
Blaze dusted off a seat for his visitor, saying: "I never did till
lately, but now I'm worse than a plantation nigger. I tell you
there's things in this world we don't sabe. I wish you'd get
Paloma to fire her. I've tried and failed. I wish you'd tell her
those dresses are rotten."
"But they're very nice; they're lovely; and I've just been
complimenting her. Now what has this woman done to you?"
It seemed impossible that a man of Blaze Jones's character could
actually harbor crude superstitions, and yet there was no
mistaking his earnestness when he said:
"I ain't sure whether she's to blame, or her husband, but
misfortune has folded me to herself."
"How?"
"Well, I'm sick."
"You don't look it."
"I don't exactly feel it, either, but I am. I don't sleep good, my
heart's actin' up, I've got rheumatism, my stomach feels like I'd
swallowed something alive--"
"You're smoking too much," Alaire affirmed, with conviction.
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