She reflected before answering. It is the health of a stranger,—of Mr. Winny, my love, come with me. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood.
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