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Updated: May 9, 2025
I'll cross fifty colo' lines whenev' I feels like it!" By midnight every Rosemonter at the ball had heard this speech repeated, and knew that it had hardly left the mulatto's throat before he had fled with shrieks of terror from the pretended ghosts of his earlier wives, and with the curses of a coward's rage from the vain clutches of his would-be captors. But we go too fast. Night fell.
"Why, John," came the mother's sweet complaint, "I wanted to see Brother Garnet." "Oh, I'm sorry," said the complaisant son. Garnet paused on the coach's platform to get rid of his tremors. "He'll not tell," he said aloud, the uproar of wheels drowning his voice. "He's too good a Rosemonter to tattle. At first I thought he'd got on the same scent as Cornelius.
John whisked around to the door and stood looking out, though seeing nothing, bitter in the thought that not for the Englishman's own sake, but for the sake of the British capital coveted by Suez, a gentleman and a Rosemonter was forbidden to pay him the price of his insolence. "I'd like to pass," presently said someone behind him. He started, and Gamble went by.
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