“How would you know?” Michelle’s interest was piqued. "You mean, it doesn't matter?" "Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, you babbled words. “Can’t you SEE how things are?” she said. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. "Iss, Massa. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom.
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