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He went up the step and lighted the lamp. Hatteras followed him and the two men faced one another. For a little while neither of them spoke. Walker was repeating to himself that this man with the black skin,
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, naked except for a dirty loincloth and a few feathers on his head was a white man married to a white wife who was sleeping--Nay, more likely crying--not thirty yards away.
Hatteras began to mumble out his usual explanation of duty and the rest of it.
"That won't wash," interrupted Walker. "What is it? A woman?"
"Good Heaven, no,
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!" cried Hatteras suddenly. It was plain that that explanation was at all events untrue. "Jim, I've a good mind to tell you all about it."
"You have got to," said Walker. He stood between Hatteras and the steps.
"I told you how this country fascinated me in spite of myself," he began.
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," interrupted Walker, "that you had got over that since. Why, man, you are married," and he came across to Hatteras and shook him by the shoulder. "Don't you understand? You have a wife!"
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