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“Come, Miss Jane, don’t cry,” said Bessie as she finished. She might as well have said to the fire, “don’t burn!” but how could she divine the morbid suffering to which I was a prey?
no, I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty at the price of caste.
I saw by her look she wished no longer to talk to me, but rather to converse with her own thoughts.
The kind whisper went to my heart like a dagger.