But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. He knew she was out there, he could feel it. Like a hare closely pressed, Jack attempted to double, but the device only brought him nearer his foes, who were crossing the field in every direction, and rending the air with their shouts. He looked melancholy enough, it is true. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me.
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