“You
truly are a branco. You may speak our tongue, but there is
nothing left of your Yoruba blood. It
has long since drained away.”
“As
yours will soon. To water the cane on
this island, if you try to rise up against the branco.”
“I
can refuse to submit.” The hardness in
his eyes aroused her. Was it
desperation? Or pride?
“And
you’ll die for it.”
“Then
I will die. If the branco kills me today, he cannot kill me again tomorrow. And I will die free.”
(from Caribbee,
by Thomas
Hoover)
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