In one grave, mind. " "Iss, Massa Austin," replied the black. She has no proof—yet. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. God help me.
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