But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. . A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. ’ It is the Press who find her out. She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready. Forgive me if a certain warmth creeps into my words! The Park is green and gray to-day, but I am glowing pink and gold.
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