” She laid her fingers for a moment upon his arm. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. Miss Mary and me, and Martha too sometimes. You must remember, you've just begun to read; you haven't any comparisons. “What the hell is going on here, Officer?” He grumbled.
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