He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. “Has he accused any one yet?” “Not yet,” he answered. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring.
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