The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. "Iss, Massa. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling.
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