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Henry, O., 1862-1910

"Rolling Stones"

Ten or twelve thousand was what they expected. But one of the
proprietors had proved to be just a trifle too old-style. Just after
dark he had carried home in a shirt box most of the funds on hand.
Doctor James proceeded up Twenty-fourth Street, which was, to all
appearance, depopulated. Even the theatrical folk, who affect this
district as a place of residence, were long since abed. The drizzle had
accumulated upon the street; puddles of it among the stones received the
fire of the arc lights, and returned it, shattered into a myriad liquid
spangles. A captious wind, shower-soaked and chilling, coughed from the
laryngeal flues between the houses.
As the practitioner's foot struck even with the corner of a tall brick
residence of more pretension than its fellows the front door popped
open, and a bawling negress clattered down the steps to the pavement.
Some medley of words came from her mouth, addressed, like as not, to
herself--the recourse of her race when alone and beset by evil. She
looked to be one of that old vassal class of the South--voluble,
familiar, loyal, irrepressible; her person pictured it--fat, neat,
aproned, kerchiefed.


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