When I took anything at meal-times, I would first glance at him, and if he looked forbidding or shook his head, I did not eat the forbidden thing.

I knew on that voyage from Syracuse to Buffalo exactly what servitude means.

No slave was ever more systematically cruelized[1], no convict ever more brutishly abused--unless his oppressor may have been more ingenious than Ace.

He took my coverlets at night.

He starved me by making me afraid to eat.