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 “But, Captain, I myself am a negro. Whom should I marry?”

“No one; no one! Let your seed wither in your loins! It's better to do that; it's better—” At that moment the clashing of the supper gong fell on the old man's naked nerves. He straightened up by some reflex mechanism, turned away from what he thought was his last interview with his secretary, and proceeded down the piazza into the great empty dining-room.