A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. ’ ‘Dear me. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. We’ll go. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed. " "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. " "But I never saw anybody more alive.
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