Not only so, but the students, many of them, mock
at us who stand up against oppression.
You may not be aware, dear Aunty, that I have a habit, in walking, of
keeping my hands firmly clenched, and my thumbs laid flat and pressed
down over the knuckles of my forefingers. This, I am aware, gives the
thumbs a flattened look. One of our principal pro-slavery students
delights to laugh at me to my face. Perhaps I am wrong in connecting
everything with this all-absorbing theme, but, truly, my thoughts all
run in that direction. Mother and you were accustomed to send me on
errands when I was little, and you placed your money in my right hand
and mother hers in my left, because, on my return to our house, your
room was on the right hand of the entry. So I used to go along, holding
your respective moneys in my palms, with my thumbs stopping the
apertures. And now I am persecuted for the fidelity which led me to
acquire a habit that cleaves to me to this day. But little did I dream,
dear Aunty, when I padded along like a straight footed animal in the
water, instead of having the free use of my open palms to aid me in
walking, that I was acquiring a habit to be to me an inlet of torture in
behalf of our manacled four millions, whose hands feel the galling bonds
of slavery.
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