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211 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1861
🔺> "Alas," exclaimed Cora, her beautiful eyes filling with tears, "who could it be if it was not her? No, Mr. Percy. I have never known even the poor consolation of hearing people speak of my mother. Every time I have ventured to address my father on the subject, he has replied in harsh and cold tones that have chilled my heart. All that I could ever learn was that she died young, at New Orleans. I dared not speak upon a subject which caused my poor father such painful emotions.". . . here and there you would find a negro who could read and write, who generally received such instruction from their owner's or overseer's children. Simon was twenty-five and Elsie eighteen years of age, both having the same mother, Aunt Dinah, and the same white father
🔻 "I mean that your angel, your nymph, your goddess, your siren is—a slave." "A slave?" exclaimed Gilbert. "Yes. The African blood runs in those purple veins. The hereditary curse of slavery hovers over that graceful and queen-like head." "But her skin is fairer than the lily."
🔺 Nothing could be more complete than the contrast between the Spanish girl and the Octoroon. Both were beautiful—both had eyes of deepest black, but the orbs of Cora Leslie were soft and pensive, while those of Camillia Moraquitos flashed with the burning flames of a southern clime. Cora's oval cheeks were pale as the unsullied leaf of the water-lily; Camillia's glowed with a rich crimson blush, of that splendid hue, rarely seen save in the petals of the damask rose. But each had offended the pride of the planter, and he determined that each should pay a bitter penalty for having dared to prefer another. He told his suit and was rejected with scorn.
🔻 Cora, the Octoroon! Yes, the fatal word which branded this lovely and innocent being is contained in those three syllables. She was an octoroon, removed in the eighth degree from the African race, with a skin purely white as the tint of the lilies sleeping upon the lakes of her native Louisiana. One drop of the blood of a slave ran in her veins, poisoned her inmost life, and stamped her with the curse of Cain. She was an Octoroon!