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Uncle Tom's Cabin | Harriet Beecher Stowe | |
The Stratagem |
Page 3 of 8 |
This influence had become more harassing and decided, since partial insanity had given a strange, weird, unsettled cast to all her words and language. A night or two after this, Legree was sitting in the old sitting-room, by the side of a flickering wood fire, that threw uncertain glances round the room. It was a stormy, windy night, such as raises whole squadrons of nondescript noises in rickety old houses. Windows were rattling, shutters flapping, and wind carousing, rumbling, and tumbling down the chimney, and, every once in a while, puffing out smoke and ashes, as if a legion of spirits were coming after them. Legree had been casting up accounts and reading newspapers for some hours, while Cassy sat in the corner; sullenly looking into the fire. Legree laid down his paper, and seeing an old book lying on the table, which he had noticed Cassy reading, the first part of the evening, took it up, and began to turn it over. It was one of those collections of stories of bloody murders, ghostly legends, and supernatural visitations, which, coarsely got up and illustrated, have a strange fascination for one who once begins to read them. Legree poohed and pished, but read, turning page after page, till, finally, after reading some way, he threw down the book, with an oath. "You don't believe in ghosts, do you, Cass?" said he, taking the tongs and settling the fire. "I thought you'd more sense than to let noises scare _you_." "No matter what I believe," said Cassy, sullenly. "Fellows used to try to frighten me with their yarns at sea," said Legree. "Never come it round me that way. I'm too tough for any such trash, tell ye." |
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Uncle Tom's Cabin Harriet Beecher Stowe |
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