impertinent. I thought she'd like to know. I thought wrong.

I loathe Miss Bray. The very sight of her shoulders in the back gets me
mad all over without her saying a word, and everything in me that's
wrong comes right forward and speaks out when she and I are together.
She thinks she could run this earth better than it's being done, and
she walks like she was the Superintendent of most of it. But I could
stand that. I could stand her cheeks, and her frizzed front, and a good
many other things; but what I can't stand is her passing for being
truthful when she isn't. She tells stories, and she knows I know it; and
from the day I found it out I have stayed out of her way; and were she
the Queen of Europe, Asia, and Africa, and the United States I'd want
her to stand out of mine. I truly would.

Her outrageousest story I heard her tell myself. It was over a year ago,
and we were in the room where the ladies were having a Board meeting. I
had come in to bring some water, and had a waiter full of glasses in my
hands, and was just about to put them on the table when I heard Miss
Bray tell her Lie.

That's what she did. She Lied!

Those glasses never touched that table. My hands lost their hold, and
down they came with a crash. Every one smashed to smithereens, and I
standing staring at Miss Bray. The way she told her story was this. The
Board deals us out for adoption, and that morning they were discussing a
request for Pinkie Moore, and, as usual, Miss Bray didn't want Pinkie
to go. You see, Pinkie was very useful. She did a lot of disagreeable
things for Miss Bray, and Miss Bray didn't want to lose her. And when
Mrs. Roane, who is the only Board lady truly seeing through her, asked,