Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. Good night. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. "Captain," he cried, in a voice of the bitterest anguish, "have these dogs again hunted you down? If you hadn't been so unlucky, I should have been with you before to-morrow night.
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