Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. She heard him come in; the light burned on. Almost had Martha won out. She hastened past. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. ” There was silence between them. CHAPTER III.
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