"Do you mean to say you will interfere—" "I mean to say this," interrupted Wild, with contemptuous calmness, "that I'll neither allow you to leave England nor the profession you've engaged in. I need a white man, if only to talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of your intelligence. I feel almost inclined to regret the fact. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk.
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