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“You see,” said Ann Veronica, with the air of one who shares a difficulty, “I’ve promised to go. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. " "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. She held out her arms to him and smiled. Rich folks, once. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off.
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