It doesn't matter that you deal with black people. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. You are my slave—and such you shall continue. But it is my fault.
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