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The brown man sat down in an ancient rocking-chair by the window, leaned back, and closed his eyes. His blood still whispered in his ears from his fight. Notwithstanding his justification, he gradually became filled with self-loathing. To fight to hammer and kick in Niggertown's dust over a girl! It was an indignity. Peter shifted his position in his chair, and his thoughts took another trail.
Dawson Bobbs was Niggertown's conscience. It was best for Peter to take from this atmosphere what was dearest to him, and go at once. The brown man's thoughts came trailing back to the old negro parson hobbling at his side. He looked at the old man, hesitated a moment, then told him what was in his mind. Parson Ranson's face wrinkled into a grin. "You's gwine to git ma'ied?"
At that moment, in the sweep of the head-light, Peter saw Viny Berry, one of Nan's younger sisters, coming up from Niggertown's public well, carrying two buckets of water. Viny was hurrying, plashing the water over the sides of her buckets. The importance of her mission was written in her black face. "She's awful thirsty," she called to Peter in guarded tones.
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