She was pouring coffee. She did not look at him. “Tommy,’’ she said hesitantly, timidly. “Yeah?’’ His timidity was set off by hers, a curious embarrassment. Each one knew the other was shy, and became more shy in the knowledge. “Tommy, I got to ask you—you ain’t mad?’’ “Mad, Ma?’’ “You ain’t poisoned mad? You don’t hate nobody? They didn’ do nothin’ in that jail to rot you out with crazy mad?’’