I will not sell my back to man for a bundle of sugar-cane: I will go out to my own kind, and the wood-folk in their lairs. I will go out until the day, until the morning break Out to the wind's untainted kiss, the water's clean caress; I will forget my ankle-ring and snap my picket stake. I will revisit my lost loves, and playmates masterless!
Worse, one of his feet now had an ankle-ring fastened securely, and this was chained to a stout staple driven in the floor. It was a curious place in which young Benson lay, a place with a strange history. Years before a tunnel had been bored into the side of a hill. After the tunnel had been lined with a masonry of stone it was not more than three feet in diameter.
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