They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. Hope reared. “I’ve been playing since I was five, Lucy! You’re just more talented than I am. She winked at him as he shut the door. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford.
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