The Sound and The Fury

by William Faulkner

aint gwine let him,” Dilsey says. “Dont you worry, honey.” She held to my arm. Then the belt came out and I jerked loose and flung her away. She stumbled into the table. She was so old she couldn’t do any more than move hardly. But that’s all right: we need somebody in the kitchen to eat up the grub the young ones cant tote off. She came hobbling between us, trying to hold me again. “Hit me, den,” she says, “ef nothin else but hittin somebody wont do you. Hit me,” she says. “You think I wont?” I says. “I dont put no devilment beyond you,” she says. Then I heard Mother on the stairs. I might have known she wasn’t going to keep out of it. I let go. She stumbled back against the wall, holding her kimono shut. “All right,” I says. “We’ll just put this off a while. But dont think you can run it over me. I’m not an old woman, nor an old half dead nigger, either. You dam little slut,” I says. “Dilsey,” she says. “Dilsey, I want my mother.” Dilsey went to her. “Now, now,” she says. “He aint gwine so much as lay his hand on you while Ise here.” Mother came on down the stairs. “Jason,” she says. “Dilsey.” “Now, now,” Dilsey says. “I aint gwine let him tech you.” She put her hand on Quentin. She knocked it down. “You damn old nigger,” she says. She ran toward the door. “Dilsey,” Mother says on the stairs. Quentin ran up the stairs, passing her. “Quentin,” Mother says. “You, Quentin.” Quentin ran on. I could hear her when she reached the top, then in the hall. Then the door slammed. M...