"If I were your father, young gentleman," returned Jackson, enraged at the interruption, "I'd teach you not to speak till you were spoken to. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. This lapse was possibly due to her apparent determination to make full protest of Hilary’s conduct. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation.
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