She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. He has been lodged in every round-house in the metropolis, and has broken out of them all, and boasts that no prison can hold him.
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