“Forgive you, indeed. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. His shouts for help were answered by roars of mockery and laughter. At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it.
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