Very often, before I sit down to write, I read back through those words—through slave narratives, letters from freedmen, memoirs, or poems. I read the words aloud like an incantation: “Dear Dangerfield you cannot imagine how much I want to see you. Come as soon as you can…” “I had a constant dread that Mrs. Moore, her mistress, would be in want of money and sell my dear wife…” “I would much rather you would get married to some good man, for every time I gits a letter from you it tears me all to pieces…” And I feel a portion of what they felt—a portion of their love, rage, hope, despair—and
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