” “Friendship and love being separate things. "At my first being acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the 'Miseries of a Prison,' "the prisoners, methought, walking up and down the Stone Hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. “I am sorry that I have murdered you. That's the job. You won't often see white folks. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them.
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