Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. "I disbelieve the whole story you have told me. "No matter," replied Sheppard. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. He had been very easy or she had been very lucky.
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