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The southern white man was spat from the loins of the devil and there was no way to forecast his next evil act.
Cora had heard Michael recite the Declaration of Independence back on the Randall plantation many times, his voice drifting through the village like an angry phantom. She didn’t understand the words, most of them at any rate, but created equal was not lost on her. The white men who wrote it didn’t understand it either, if all men did not truly mean all men.
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The only way to know how long you are lost in the darkness is to be saved from it.
