There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. Raising him in his arms, Jonathan passed the rope round his body, and in this way the poor boy was drawn up without difficulty. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him. What you said wanted saying. You want industry—you want steadiness. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. There was no one stirring in the flats.
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