Wood required little pressing. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. There was a black fear in his heart. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. That's slang, meaning you're splendid. A fierce struggle ensued. I am going to make a fresh start. I want you to hold me and have me SO. Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. The men have never had so much work to do since they banded.
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