I thought that he was dead. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest. Only an undermaid I was then. I sang to him, and he was satisfied.
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