It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. A pig, yes, a little. Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife. His high brow was what caused all the ladies in town to covet him, it radiated intelligence but also something more primal. If you knew anything about Canton ware, you were, as like as not, sorely tempted to stuff a teacup into your pocket.
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