They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. Quilt Arnold was stationed at the stair-head, near which the boat containing the captive boy was moored. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it.
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