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His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. "Still," went on the manager, "they are slaves in a sense; they are bought and sold until their original indebtedness is paid. His face turned a dark crimson. “Dear me!” he said. .
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