Twain's End - Pg 216

   "When it was over, and Mother was weeping in the house, and Father had stormed away, I crept out back to be next to Jennie. She was lying in the dust, all in a heap. I whispered that I was sorry, real sorry, but that did no good. She did not move. So I lay down next to her and, shyly, crept my hand upon her arm. And as I lay there begging God to help her get up so we could run away together, I saw that the skin of her forearm was paler than the freckles on my hand. How could Mother call Jennie black if she was whiter than me in places?"