She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. ’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. "Blueskin's a friend in need," he said. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold.
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