"Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily. “What’s odd?” “Oh, everything!” She shivered, and went to the fire and poked it. Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. “But perhaps I want to confess them. ” His father interjected. “Please, Michelle, let’s not fight. It’s for you to say if I may sit on it. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say.
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