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Stribling, T. S., 1881-1965

"Birthright A Novel"

He soothed her, patted her shoulder, at the same time
staring at the side of her head, wondering what could have dealt her
this blow.
Presently she steadied herself and began explaining in feeble little
phrases, sandwiched between sobs and gasps:
"She--tuk a brooch--Kep'--kep' layin' it roun' in--h-her way, th-that
young Sam Arkwright did,--a-an' finally she--she tuk hit. N-nen, when he
seen he h-had her, he said sh-sh-she 'd haf to d-do wh-whut he said, or
he'd sen' her to-to ja-a-il!" Vannie sobbed drearily for a few moments
on Peter's breast. "Sh-she did fuh a while: 'n 'en sh-she broke off wid
h-him, anyhow, an'--an' he swo' out a wa'nt an sont her to jail!" The
mother sobbed without comfort, and finally added: "Sh-she in a delicate
fix now, an' 'at jail goin' to be a gloomy place fuh Cissie."
The three negroes stood motionless in the dusty hallway, motionless save
for the racking of Vannie's sobs.
Tump Pack stirred himself.
"Well, we gotta git her out." His words trailed off. He stood wrinkling
his half-inch of brow.


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