“About my sister,” she repeated slowly. She was faint from hunger, her head spinning into dizziness, the blood madness readying for battle. He then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. I think I asked if I could eat lunch with her and Trisha Deere one day and she said there was no room at the table.
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