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And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance. ‘Not kill me, I mean. “Come on in. " "The Dawn Pearl! Odd, but we white folks aren't half so poetical as the yellow or the black. Their small talk continued. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. Murder had become nothing to her. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome.
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