India was on her feet, her lean body quivering with insult.
“ I do hate you,” she said in a clear but trembling voice. “But it hasn’t been hypocrisy that’s kept me quiet. It’s something you can’t understand, not possessing any — any common courtesy, common good breeding. It’s the realization that if all of us don’t hang together and submerge our own small hates, we can’t expect to beat the Yankees. But you — you — you’ve done all you could to lower the prestige of decent people — working and bringing shame on a good husband, giving Yankees and riffraff the right to laugh at us and make insulting remarks about our lack of gentility. Yankees don’t know that you aren’t one of us and have never been. Yankees haven’t sense enough to know that you haven’t any gentility. And when you’ve ridden
