"The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. ” Courtlaw refused brusquely, almost rudely. "It's the skull of a rebel," said Jonathan, with marked emphasis on the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us. He was a philosopher. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say.
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