be wanted to be my himself and see if

Catherine sat in the little chair by the side window with a picture book on her knees. Her crayons were all over the window sill and she was working intently with an orange crayon. She looked up when he came in and looked down again and kept on working. He did not want to help her, be wanted to be my himself and see if he could find the paper with the names in it, but he felt that he ought to try to be good, for by now he felt a dark uneasiness about something, he was not quite sure what, that he had done. He walked over to her. “I’ll help you,” he said. “No,” Catherine said, without even looking up. It was the Mother Goose book and with her orange crayon she was scrawling all over the cow which jumped over the moon, inside and outside the lines of the cow. “Aunt Hannah says to,” he said, disgusted to see what she was doing to the cow. “No,” Catherine said, and again she did not look up or stop scrawling for a second. “That ain’t no color for a cow,” he said. “Whoever saw an orange cow?” She made no reply, but he could see that her face was getting red. “Besides, you’re not even coloring inside the cow,” he said. “Just look at that. You’re just running that crayon around all over the place and it isn’t even the right color.” She bore down even harder and harder with the crayon and pushed it in a wider and wider tangle of lines and all of a sudden it snapped and the long part rolled to the floor. “See now, you busted it,” Rufus said. “Leave me alone!” She tried to draw with the stub of the crayon but it was too short, and the paper got in the way. She looked along the window sill and selected a brown crayon. “What you goana do with that brown one?” Rufus said. “You already got all that orange all over everything, what you goana do with that brown one?” Catherine took the brown crayon and made a brutal tangle of dark lines all over the orange lines. “Now all you did is just spoil it,” Rufus said. “You don’t know how to draw!”