But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. Gerald’s task was to stop him from doing so. Do you think I would marry you? Rather would I marry the pig in the convent. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. He hung round those broad waters from noon until three and realized that he had embarked upon a wild-goose chase. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. “You are absurd,” she declared.
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