“It ate another one of the field niggers last night,” said Pickett. “Now the cowardly bastards are barely working. They’re all hanging together like a bunch of rabbits, looking over their shoulders and ready to bolt.”
“That seems like a sensible response to the situation,” said Father.
“They’re supposed to be working,” said Pickett.
Father smiled. “And we’re supposed to kill a worm. Shall we begin?”