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“It’s a witch thing, Mas’r!” “A what?” “Something that niggers gets from witches. Keeps ‘em from feelin’ when they’s flogged. He had it tied round his neck, with a black string.” Legree, like most godless and cruel men, was superstitious. He took the paper, and opened it uneasily. There dropped out of it a silver dollar, and a long, shining curl of fair hair,- hair which, like a living thing, twined itself round Legree’s fingers. “Damnation!” he screamed, in sudden passion, stamping on the floor, and pulling furiously at the hair, as if it burned him. “Where did this come from? Take it off!- burn it up!- burn it up!” he screamed, tearing it off, and throwing it into the charcoal. “What did you bring it to me for?” Sambo stood, with his heavy mouth wide open, and aghast with wonder; and Cassy, who was preparing to leave the apartment, stopped, and looked at him in perfect amazement. “Don’t you bring me any more of your devilish things!” said he, shaking his fist at Sambo, who retreated hastily towards the door; and, picking up the silver dollar, he sent it smashing through the window-pane, out into the darkness. Sambo was glad to make his escape. When he was gone, Legree seemed a lit- tle ashamed of his fit of alarm. He sat doggedly down in his chair, and began sul- lenly sipping his tumbler of punch. |