But the niggers liked him all the
better fur that.
They always had been more or less hell in the
bishop's heart. He had brains and he knowed it,
and the white folks had let him see THEY knowed
it, too. And he was part white, and his white
forefathers had been big men in their day, and yet,
in spite of all of that, he had to herd with niggers
and to pertend he liked it. He was both white and
black in his feelings about things, so some of his
feelings counterdicted others, and one of these
here race riots went on all the time in his own
insides. But gradual he got to the place where
they was spells he hated both whites and niggers,
but he hated the whites the worst. And now, in
the last two or three years, since his crazy streaks
had growed as big as his sensible streaks, or bigger,
they was no telling what he would preach to them
niggers. But whatever he preached most of them
would believe. It might be something crazy and
harmless, or it might be crazy and harmful.
He had been holding some revival meetings in
nigger churches right there in that very county,
and was at it not fur away from there right then.
The idea had got around he was preaching some
most unusual foolishness to the blacks. Fur the
niggers was all acting like they knowed something
too good to mention to the white folks, all about
there.
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