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 had him spent and breathless, and the hot fire back of him had him wet with sweat.

Although Andrew was little older than July, he had already been married twice, the first time to Mary's cousin who died and left one little boy named Big Boy, then soon after her death he married Doll, July's sister, a woman some years older than Mary, who already had a house full of children. When Andrew first became a widower he courted Mary, and Budda Ben urged her to marry him, for Andrew would make a fine husband, but Mary had argued that while no man on the plantation was more able than Andrew, who was a solemn deacon, she loved July best because he laughed and joked and sang as he worked and was fresh and ready for frolic when night came.

Andrew was now the faithful husband of Doll, her own sister-in-law. And Doll was shaking and patting Andrew's colicky baby, hushing its cries while its father prayed to God, and July, her July, was God only knew where. Still, if she had it to do all over again, she'd choose July before any man in the world. Nobody else knew—bow to be so tender, or so gay, or so bold in loving.

Everybody stood up and sang the last hymn, slowly, solemnly, following the words Brer Dee lined out of the book.