Quicksand
how could anyone, have been so deluded? How could ten million black folk credit it when daily before their eyes was enacted its contradiction? Not that she at all cared about the ten million. But herself. Her sons. Her daughter. These would grow to manhood, to womanhood, in this vicious, this hypocritical land. The dark eyes filled with tears.
“I wouldn‘t,” the nurse advised, “do that. You‘ve been dreadfully sick, you know. I can‘t have you worrying. Time enough for that when you‘re well. Now you must sleep all you possibly can.”
Helga did sleep. She found it surprisingly easy to sleep. Aided by Miss Hartley‘s rather masterful discernment, she took advantage of the ease with which this blessed enchantment stole over her. From her husband‘s praisings, prayers, and caresses she sought refuge in sleep, and from the neighbors‘ gifts, advice, and sympathy.
There was that day on which they told
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