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COTTON: Come again?
AQUILLA: The woman hanged for conspiracy after her lover killed her husband. *Im
ashamed to say I saw her hanged I remember what a fine figure she showed
against the sky as she hung in the misty rain, and how the tight black silk gown set
off her shape as she wheeled half-round and back.* (quotation from Thomas Hardy,
on the execution of Martha Browne in 1856)
COTTON: You think on yourself, Aquilla.
Enter Aquilla as Azra exits, he and Cotton facing against each other like two cowboys
ready to duel.
A pause.
AQUILLA: Oh, pardon me.
He starts to leave.
COTTON: You afeared of me, Quilla?
AQUILLA: Who?
COTTON: You.
AQUILLA: What makes you say that?
COTTON: Aint you?
AQUILLA: It's likely. Should I be?
COTTON: Likely. Aint got such pretty eyes as your brother.
AQUILLA: Well, that aint what people say. You're marrying him?
COTTON: I am.
A pause.
AQUILLA: All right.
COTTON: What of it?
AQUILLA: That right? You don't seem chained by nothing.
COTTON: Thank you.
AQUILLA: You don't barely know me.
COTTON: You all heat when you ain't dousin yourself with bourbon. I know that,
least.
AQUILLA: So what then?
COTTON: So nothing. Sew buttons.
AQUILLA: Woman, don't do this to me.