Your purposes are defeated. ’ She shook her head sadly. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, fled suddenly up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he answered through the locked door, “Go away, Vee! I’m busy,” and made a lapidary’s wheel buzz loudly. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. She rapped again, louder. He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom.
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