’Cause I’m black. They play cards in there, but I can’t play because I’m black. They say I stink. Well, I tell you, you all of you stink to me.

"Well, jus’ forget it," said Crooks. "I didn’ mean it. Jus’ foolin’. I wouldn’ want to go no place like that."

Crooks had reduced himself to nothing. There was no personality, no ego—nothing to arouse either like or dislike.

This room was swept and fairly neat, for Crooks was a proud, aloof man. He kept his distance and demanded that other people keep theirs.

I ain’t wanted in the bunk house, and you ain’t wanted in my room.

Sat’iday night. Ever’body out doin’ som’pin’. Ever’body! An’ what am I doin’? Standin’ here talkin’ to a bunch of bindle stiffs—a nigger an’ a dum–dum and a lousy ol’ sheep—an’ likin’ it because they ain’t nobody else.

You got no right to come in my room. This here’s my room. Nobody got any right in here but me.

If I say something, why it’s just a nigger sayin’ it.

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.