Well, you keep your place then, Nigger. I could get you strung up on a tree so easy it ain’t even funny.

This is just a nigger talkin’, an’ a busted–back nigger. So it don’t mean nothing, see? You couldn’t remember it anyways.

If we could keep Curley in, we might. But Curley’s gonna want to shoot ’im. Curley’s still mad about his hand. An’ s’pose they lock him up an’ strap him down and put him in a cage. That ain’t no good, George.

"Lennie never done it in meanness," he said. "All the time he done bad things, but he never done one of ’em mean."

"I should of knew," George said hopelessly. "I guess maybe way back in my head I did."

As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment.

"I get lonely," she said. "You can talk to people, but I can’t talk to nobody but Curley. Else he gets mad. How’d you like not to talk to anybody?"

"I don’t want ta hurt you," he said, "but George’ll be mad if you yell." When she didn’t answer nor move he bent closely over her.

"... I coulda made somethin' of myself." She said darkly, "Maybe I will yet."

"... Here—feel right here." She took Lennie's hand and put it on her head. "Feel right aroun' there an' see how soft it is."