Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say.
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