Garland, alarmed at her dynamic emotion, released them. She returned them to him.
"But—nobody don' wish. Others—Japan people—they don' lig be ligued. But me? I got be—else I got pain in my heart an' am ill. You aever have those pain at you' heart—lig you all times falling down—down—down? Tha' 's mos' tarrible. Tha' 's lonesome-ness. Me? I thing I go'n' die sometime account that. Tha' 's lone-some-ness to cross west-ocean to pink-face people. Yaes; tha' 's why I got do those. Oku-Sama—tha' 's my modder—she saying 'most all times, 'Jus' lig pink-face people. Always got be lig by 'nother—touch by 'nother—speak sof by 'nother.' An' tha' 's you—yaes! You lig me, an' you touch me, an' you speak sof unto me the ver' first time I seeing you. Me? I know, those time I first seeing you, that you don' hate me account I got those pink face upon me."
"No," admitted Garland, seriously.
"How that is nize! It make something rest—go 'sleep inside me. I got that peace. Jus' when you touch my hand at first I got some happiness. But now—I got that peace."
She began regretfully to detach herself.
