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Trial I Geo: Doc stared gravely, said,“You’re going to die.” I glared, spat,“So will you.” . . . Geo: My speech? Pretty ugly. Those who complain? Uglier. My English is like fractured China – broken. I really speak Coloured, but with a Three Mile Plains accent. See, I can’t speak Lucasville and my New Road’s kinda weak. Ma English be a desert that don’t bloom less watered by rum. . . . Geo: Yonder, that horse is fat, its hairs full of sweat. I love my wife and two childs and I’d hold them yet. . . . Geo: This is a good apple country. Right so. I would like to get on the Dominion Atlantic Railway drivin an engine. If I could go to Africa, to a Coloured country, or to Haiti, or even to Cuba, I would go. I would like to get away. On a no-moon night when the only eyes that got vision are God’s. Oh, if I could get away, I would do away with sickness and not get away with murder. Who can do more and more and more injustice? 30 / Blues and Bliss ...

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