Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. What was to hinder me, if I had been so inclined, from directing them to your retreat?" "Enough," replied Darrell.
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