I am required by my mistress to clean her bathing quarters at this time every week. This is the first time this has happened.
As I mop the floor, my mistress, with her long black mane of hair still dry around her shoulders, lies naked in the bath, one of her thick and pale legs draped gracelessly over the edge. She is eating a leg of chicken. She has yet to take her eyes off me. I have asked her if it would be better if I return at a later time. But she has disagreed. And her word is all that counts. A Negro’s counts for nothing.
She just won’t take her eyes off me. I wish that she would. My heart is accelerating. The stripes and wounds on my back are still fresh and painful. There is grease from the leg of chicken all over her white fingers. Bits of liquid fat are dripping into the water.
She just won’t take her eyes off me.
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