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Ashton, Warren T.

"Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue"

These were annoying reflections, and while he
resolved to be more temperate in future, how fervently he adjured his
patron demon to ward off any danger he might have courted in his
inebriation!
After his accustomed ride through the cane-fields, he retired to the
library. The decanter had been replenished with brandy, and his late
resolutions did not deter him from freely imbibing of its contents. The
equilibrium was restored. His mind, stimulated by the fumes of the
liquor, resumed its usual buoyancy. He paced the room, and drank
frequent draughts of the fiery beverage.
Suddenly he stopped in his perambulation, as a faint recollection of the
lost key came to his mind. He searched his pockets; but it could not be
found. The drawer was locked. Suspicious as he was fearful, he trembled
lest in his oblivious moments he had compromised his secret. He sent for
the overseer, determined to know and provide for the worst.
After the messenger left, his reflections assumed a new direction. He
tried to laugh away his suspicions, applied epithets to himself which it
would not have been safe for another to have applied, and in good round
oaths cursed his own stupidity.


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