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Updated: June 6, 2025
Alma's mother looked at her with distressed question, but the girl seemed perfectly cool and contented; and she gave her mind provisionally to a point suggested by Colonel Woodburn's talk. "Still, I can't believe it was right to hold people in slavery, to whip them and sell them. It never did seem right to me," she added, in apology for her extreme sentiments to the gentleness of her adversary.
March interpolated, "how they could hurt it much worse than Colonel Woodburn's article crying up slavery." "Well," said March, impartially, "we could print a dozen articles praising the slavery it's impossible to have back, and it wouldn't hurt us.
I was just thinking what a different creature a Massachusetts man is from a Virginian, And yet I suppose they're both as pure English stock as you'll get anywhere in America. Marsh, I think Colonel Woodburn's paper is going to make a hit." "You've got there! When it knocks down the sale about one-half, I shall know it's made a hit." "I'm not afraid," said Fulkerson.
"And there are the horses." Elsie Haggard shared her mother's concern for Boy Woodburn's soul. "And Someone Else," she said. "Yes," replied the girl simply, almost brutally. "There's the Lord." Elsie Haggard looked at her sharply, suspecting her of flippancy. Nothing clearly was further from the girl's mind. Her face was unusually soft, almost dreamy.
Somehow, though, when these people spoke it sounded very nice and cordial, more so than it does when English people greet each other, though the voices weren't so sweet except a few that drawled in a pretty, Southern way, like Sally Woodburn's. I could tell which were the poor things that Mrs.
But March had a feeling of impermanency from what had happened, mixed with a fantastic sense of shame toward Lindau. He did not sympathize with Lindau's opinions; he thought his remedy for existing evils as wildly impracticable as Colonel Woodburn's.
"I beg your pardon," said he, taking off his hat, and speaking in a nice American voice, as nice for a man as Sally Woodburn's is for a woman. "Please don't suppose I mean to be rude or intrusive, but I wanted to tell you that I think you won't be annoyed again; and just one thing more. May I thank you for your goodness on shipboard? It brightened what would otherwise have been a grim experience."
Daddy wouldn't make her go to bed at ten o'clock then; she would write all night if she choose; she would have a little room on purpose, and visitors at Briarsfield would pass by the old rough-cast house and point it out as Beth Woodburn's home, and well, this is enough for a sample of Beth's daydreams.
Woodburn's brief arrangements were soon completed; when he and his newly-encountered foot companions, each provided with a pair of rackets, or snow-shoes, articles with which foot-travellers, when the snow was deep, often, in those times, went furnished, took up their line of march down the road leading to the Connecticut, leaving Peters and his company, as well as all others who had teams, refresing themselves or their horses at the village inn.
I was just thinking what a different creature a Massachusetts man is from a Virginian, And yet I suppose they're both as pure English stock as you'll get anywhere in America. Marsh, I think Colonel Woodburn's paper is going to make a hit." "You've got there! When it knocks down the sale about one-half, I shall know it's made a hit." "I'm not afraid," said Fulkerson.
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