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Maria answers him only with a look of scorn. She advances to the door to find it locked. "It was me I locked it. Best to be private about the matter," says Keepum, a forced smile playing over his countenance.
Southern society asks no repentance of him whose hands reek with the blood of his poor victim; southern society has no pittance for that family Keepum has made lick the dust in tears and sorrow.
Her appeal, nevertheless, falls ineffectual. Mr. Keepum has no generous impulses to bestow upon beings so sensitive of their virtue. With him, it is a ware of very little value, inasmuch as the moral standard fixed by a better class of people is quite loose.
"I have said you were a fool-all women are fools! and now I know I was not mistaken!" This Mr. Keepum says while throwing his hat sullenly upon the floor.
"D-n it," rejoins Mr. Snivel, with a sardonic laugh, "these folks are affecting to be something." Maria raises her right hand, and motions Mr. Keepum away. It does indeed seem to her that the moment when nature in her last struggle unbends before the destroyer-when the treasure of a life passes away to give place to dark regrets and future remorse, is come.
Snivel, having first patted the old man on the shoulder, exchanges a significant wink with his friend Keepum, and then bestows upon him what he is pleased to call a little wholesome advice. "People misunderstand Mr. Keepum," he says, "who is one of the most generous of men, but lacks discretion, and in trying to be polite to everybody, lets his feelings have too much latitude now and then."
Attempt not again to lay your cruel hands upon me!" The goaded woman struggles from his grasp, and shrieks for help at the very top of her voice. And as the neighbors come rushing up stairs, Mr. Keepum valorously betakes himself into the street. Mad- dened with disappointment, and swearing to have revenge, he seeks his home, and there muses over the "curious woman's" unswerving resolution.
We so worship the god of slavery, that our minds are become debased, and yet we seem unconscious of it. Mr. Keepum did not lend money to the old antiquarian without a purpose. That purpose, that justice which accommodates itself to the popular voice, will aid him in gaining. Mr.
Keepum, and the very low condition of the deceased, the good-natured jury return a verdict that the man met his death in consequence of an accidental blow, administered with an iron instrument, in the hands of one Keepum. From the testimony-Keepum's clerk-it is believed the act was committed in self-defence. Mr. The majesty of our laws is not easily offended by gentlemen of standing.
"She's the mother of the dashing harlot, or I'm no prophet, nevertheless," he concludes, shaking his head significantly. "You may almost swear it-a bad conscience is a horrid bore; d-n me, if I can't see through the thing. "They had better drop her as quietly as possible," rejoins Mr. Keepum, drawing his white glove from off his right hand, and extending his cigar case. Mr.