Sam Dash, head of the interrogators, didn’t even bother to question me. Elizabeth’s waiting. That nigger is getting more and more uppity. To his mind came the words of a hymn he had so often sung at Harvard: The shadow of a mighty rock Within a weary land.
But what does this figure really mean? Could I go out tomorrow and realize nine hundred thousand dollars from the sale of my slaves? Certainly not. The slave-trackers, seeing the welts, realized that here was a difficult nigger. Year after year these men assemble and dole out whippings to women who could not have babies without their connivance. To do so was difficult, for they were required to suppress ordinary human emotions in order to escape notice in a white environment.
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