Thoroughly Modern Emancipation
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This was a day in which Lisa was truly privileged. It wasn't often she 
was permitted, let alone invited, to watch television with her mistress, 
but on this day Madam Colette granted Lisa the privilege of kneeling 
in front of the screen-naked as always, except for her slave-collar, as 
clothes were such an unnecessary luxury-while her mistress searched 
for the relevant news channel. When she selected it, the current story 
was a report on the Party Caucuses that were a prelude to the 
upcoming Presidential elections. But this wasn't what Madam Colette 
wanted her slave to watch. What possible relevance could it have for 
Lisa? No society would ever enfranchise its slaves. Emancipation has 
to precede enfranchisement and, however much Lisa's mistress might 
campaign for her rights, there wasn't much likelihood of that 
happening any time soon.
      It wasn't this news item, nor the one that followed regarding 
the scandalous murder of a Senator's daughter, but the next feature in 
which Lisa's mistress, Colette Tuchman-Lee, was once again 
interviewed for her views on the matter for which she'd campaigned 
for so many years. And this was especially pertinent to Lisa, as it 
related to slaves' civil rights and their owners' legal responsibilities. 
Lisa was fortunate indeed in being the property of a mistress who was 
in many ways the model slave-owner; one, moreover, renowned 
throughout the Union for her restless campaigning on behalf of the 
rights and welfare of slaves. This was bold of her as it was a matter 
generally regarded as the private concern of their owners. What does 
ownership mean if you can't do precisely what you want with what 
you own? Property rights surely took precedence over moral scruples. 
And where would the economy be if the net benefit of slave labour 
became the net cost of managing unemployed human resources? 
      Lisa speculated that Madam Colette's concern with the 
complex issue of slavery and human rights might have originated from 
the fact that, like the original slaves shipped over from Africa, her 
mistress was Black. And, although the majority of slaves in America 
were still mostly Black, Asian or Latino, Lisa was White. She was 
legitimate booty from the United States' overwhelming victory in the 
recent war against the former British colony of Newfoundland. Lisa 
was sometimes tempted to agree that the briefly independent nation 
into which she was born was less prosperous than its aggressive 
neighbour simply because it still adhered to the moral scruples of the 
much diminished British Empire.
      But for now, Lisa had to hold her breath and not fidget during 
the panel discussion her mistress was so intent on her seeing. And the 
topic of this was Colette Tuchman-Lee's current campaign to transfer 
the terms of slavery from life-time servitude to limited-term indenture. 
      "I know you mean well, Colette," said John Murray, the man 
chosen to represent the opposing view, as he puffed clouds of smoke 
from his pipe into the television studio. "Who wouldn't want to 
improve the lot of those few poor wretches who suffer from 
unwarranted maltreatment by a reprehensible minority of slave-
owners? But we must consider carefully the unintended consequences 
of any supposed reform to a successful economic model. Recall the 
reforms made early last century that repealed the practise of mandating 
children into a state of slavery if their parents were slaves. Although 
this resulted in such children being freed from inheriting the servitude 
of their parents, as happened to your ancestors ..."
      "Is this so, Colette?" interrupted the host, Emily Blackwell, 
whose towering bouffant hair dominated the centre of the screen.
      Colette nodded. "I'm a third generation African-American 
citizen." 
      "...But this policy," John Murray continued, stabbing the stem 
of his pipe in the air. "This policy had the unintended effect of 
boosting the international slave trade which had become almost 
moribund when the Europeans and Antipodeans quit their role in the 
traditional triangular trade. There was now a huge demand for fresh 
labour from the traditional African sources and, with the European 
Empires so weakened after the Eurasian Wars, the United States were 
able to take full advantage of the bountiful supply and thereby revive 
the flow of human traffic. And now, of course, there are more nations 
in the world who practise and benefit from the commerce than ever 
before."
      "So, Colette," said Emily Blackwell turning away from the 
puffs of pipe-smoke to her right. "How do you answer those who say 
that the American economy can't hope to prosper if there's any further 
liberalisation in the conditions of mandatory servitude? Can slave-
owners be expected to shoulder further burdens on top of the property-
owning taxes and regular slave inspections? What about those whose 
livelihood relies on unhindered human trade from Africa, Asia and 
South America?"
      "I'd be the last one to deny that there's been progress in recent 
years," said the Colette on television while Lisa was aware that the 
Colette on the sofa behind her was watching her slave's reaction as 
much as her own image on the screen. "Slaves are now permitted to 
have sexual relationships with one another: even same sex 
relationships. The ban on casual racism against free citizens has been 
extended to apply to slaves, however little practical difference this has 
made. And it may well be that the institution of slavery will be here for 
many years to come..."
      "And are you relaxed about that?" asked the host.
      "Relaxed?" said a clearly startled Colette. "Of course not. The 
institution is barbaric and inhumane. It should have ended centuries 
ago. How can it be right for one person to be born free and the other to 
become another person's property?"
      "And you claim that you're not a socialist?" John Murray 
interceded. "That is communist talk. You want to liberate the slaves 
and then what are they to do? Starve? You want to annul the contract 
between employer and employee which is different only in kind from 
that between a slave-owner and his property. There'd be riots in the 
streets of New York. Taxes would become even more excessive. The 
American economy would be in a tailspin."
      "I've said this many times before and I don't know why I have 
to keep saying it," said Colette. "I am not a socialist or a subscriber to 
any kind of un-American activity. But I do believe in a compassionate 
and ethical relationship with regards to slaves..."
      "And this is why you're campaigning for further legislative 
reforms to limit slavery to a fixed term," said Emily Blackwell in an 
obvious attempt to steer the discussion away from the general towards 
the specific. "Do you have political support for this?"
      "I have bi-partisan backing from both sides of the House for a 
review of the terms of indenture and Presidential Candidates from both 
the Democratic-Republican and Federalist Parties have agreed to back 
my proposal to institute a State Pension for slaves that absolves the 
slave-owners' obligation of care for their property once it becomes 
economically unproductive..."
      "...Paid no doubt by yet more and higher taxes!" interjected 
John Murray.
      "And how do you answer criticism that your reforms only 
further penalise hard-working slave-owners who're already struggling 
to make ends meet?" asked the host with an inflexion in her voice that 
suggested she was about to bring the discussion to a close. "That you 
represent only the interests of property and not of property-holders?"
      "That's ridiculous," said the Colette on television firmly while 
Lisa's mistress in the living room patted her slave on the head. "As a 
slave-owner myself, how can it be said that I don't represent the 
interests of both sides?"
      "Indeed," said Emily Blackwell as the camera focused on her. 
"Well, thank you, Colette. And, of course, thank you also, John. And 
now we return to the fast-developing story of the hunt for John Booth, 
the alleged killer of the daughter of Federalist Senator Boston 
Corbett..."
      "Well, Lisa, what do you think?" asked the Colette on the sofa 
as she set the television sound to mute. "You may speak frankly."
      Lisa had long ago discovered that diplomacy was always 
required when addressing her mistress. Although she wouldn't be 
admonished or punished for saying something Miss Tuchman-Lee 
disagreed with, she was sure that the next time she incurred her 
mistress' displeasure and earned a beating, her apparent disloyalty 
would be repaid in extra welts and bruises. However enlightened 
Colette was with regards to the slave-owner's responsibility of care, 
she also was a firm believer in the merits of discipline.
      "I'm sure that limited-term indenture would be a great step 
forward, Madam," said Lisa, although she'd much prefer to earn her 
freedom a long time before the end of her term of economic utility.
      "And you don't think Murray is right to accuse me of being a 
socialist?" Colette asked with her eyes slightly narrowed.
      This could be a trap, Lisa thought. She was often sure that her 
mistress was being disingenuous when she claimed that the beatings 
she administered were solely for Lisa's own good, so she had to be 
sure that her answers mightn't arouse her mistress' displeasure. In any 
case, there was a good reason why Lisa could never be open about her 
views on socialism. It was as a result of America's displeasure at 
Newfoundland electing a Social Democratic government-
Communism in America's Backyard, as it was called-that Lisa's 
home nation, still nominally a member of the enfeebled British 
Commonwealth, was invaded and she, along with everyone else who'd 
resisted the invasion, was pressed into slavery. And now 
Newfoundland-the last sliver of land north of Venezuela that had so 
far resisted the American juggernaut-was soon to be incorporated 
into the United States of America:.
      "You're not a socialist, Madam," said Lisa carefully. "You're 
motivated by a sense of justice and fairness. And, of course, by the 
dictates of your faith..."
      "Well, less by my faith than I should be," said Colette with an 
indulgent sigh. Although a Bible was prominent in her living room and 
a Crucifix was nailed above her bed, she very rarely attended chapel 
and her faith was very much subordinate to her politics. "And, as a 
slave, do you think slaves as a whole will welcome my proposed 
reforms?"
      Lisa tried not to betray her discomfort at this question. Her 
mistress obviously believed that Lisa could speak for all slaves, when 
in fact Lisa hardly knew any others at all. She was rarely permitted out 
of the house unattended by her mistress and she had little in common 
with those slaves who visited the house and who discreetly lowered 
their eyes when they noticed that Lisa was unclothed. Like Colette, 
most such slaves were Black (but rarely accorded the same honorific 
of African-American). And those who weren't Black were of Asian 
origin: reflecting the extensive range of developing nations who 
resourced the lucrative international slave trade.
      "I'm sure they will, Madam," said Lisa. "There can be no slave 
in the world who doesn't appreciate what you're trying to do for 
them."
      Except perhaps Lisa. 
      It was true that Colette treated her slave rather better than most 
slave-owners. Lisa was rarely left as badly scarred from a whipping as 
many of the slaves she'd seen, whose backs were an ugly mess of 
raised welts and not-yet-healed wounds. She'd never suffered the 
ignominy of being manacled to the public stocks and pelted with 
mouldy fruit and toilet waste by the children of those too poor to 
afford slaves of their own. But on the other hand, she didn't appreciate 
being the sex toy of a mistress who believed that her ownership of 
Lisa's services licensed her to the use of her body whenever there was 
nothing better available. Lisa had never been tempted to Sapphic love 
when a teenager in Newfoundland and after all these years she was 
sure that it was at best the pleasure of close physical companionship 
rather than sexual ecstasy she ever felt on those occasions when 
Colette was disappointed by one of the men or women in her life.
      Not that being second-best to any of Colette's lovers made Lisa 
feel better for the groping and physical invasion she had to endure on 
all these (lesser) occasions of physical intimacy. 
      "You must understand, Colette," said Tatyana, the nearest to a 
regular lover that Lisa's mistress had, as she lounged on the chaise 
longue with a cigarette screwed into the end of an ebony holder. 
"Although the serfs in the Russian Empire aren't free by any stretch of 
the imagination, they aren't slaves and the Duma cannot be accused of 
hypocrisy in siding with the European Union when it agitates for the 
abolition of the International Slave Trade."
      Colette lay across the divan with her head on Tatyana's lap 
while Lisa knelt in attendance on the bare floor: nude as she always 
was when her mistress' Russian lover visited. Like her mistress, 
Tatyana Petrovna was an active campaigner for civil rights although 
her concern was for that 80% of the Russian Empire's population who 
were born unfree rather than that proportion of the whole world sold 
into slavery by poor nations and bought as property by the wealthy: of 
which the United States, from the Hudson Bay to the Panama Canal, 
was the most prominent. She was also in love with Colette and only 
Lisa's stated preference for men stood in the way of their living 
together as a couple.
      "Serfs are slaves, Tatty," said Colette firmly. "Worse than 
slaves. In America, the children of slaves are born free whereas serfs 
inherit their status..."
      "Not that many American slave-owners allow their slaves to 
have children," said Tatyana. "It was only because the institution of 
slavery resembled serfdom that during America's war with Russia over 
the Bering Straits..."
      "Which we won."
      "...which you won-over a century ago-and you still don't 
know what to do with your Siberian territories... But it was only 
because America and its Democracy wished to appear the more 
enlightened empire compared to Russia's constitutional monarchy..."
      "Where most people can't vote."
      "...where serfs can no more vote than can slaves in the United 
States. It was one-upmanship in the days when America was still 
uncertain whether it was the junior partner to Europe..."
      "Which tore itself apart not once but twice..."
      "...and which both Russia and America left well alone," agreed 
Tatyana. "And the result of your change of policy is that countries like 
China and India are now just as much at war with their own people to 
resource fresh slaves as African nations have always been, and are just 
as imprisoned by a cycle of civil war and banditry."
      Nowadays, Lisa's political and historical education mostly 
came from these conversations between her mistress and her lover as 
they became steadily drunker and less coherent before they finally 
went to bed together, though they didn't always put off their 
lovemaking until then, much to Lisa's undiminished embarrassment. 
Lisa knew that, in American terms, her mistress and her Russian lover 
were unusually well informed about the world and liberal in their 
opinions, but they were both much more conservative than was normal 
in what was so briefly the Social Democratic Republic of 
Newfoundland, despite the cold winds of reactionary opinion drifting 
over the Gulf of St Lawrence from the American States of Labrador 
and Quebec.
      Colette freely shared her property with her close friends and 
this generosity extended to her slave. Tonight was such an evening 
when Lisa was expected to provide sexual services to both women 
that, despite her sometimes obvious reluctance, they most often 
demanded. It might well have been because Lisa was so reluctant that 
Tatyana, for all her compassion for the down-trodden in her own 
country, took such great pleasure in licking Lisa's pale freckled skin; 
forced her fist up the crack between Lisa's dark red-tinged pubic hair; 
thrust a strapped-on dildo repeatedly into Lisa's anus while Colette 
nibbled on her nipples; slapped her pale buttocks until they were 
redder than the cheeks on her face were from embarrassment; and the 
two women made demands of Lisa to lick, caress and sometimes even 
fuck either one or both of them. 
      "Oh! She doesn't like it, does she?" said Tatyana with a 
chuckle as she tugged Lisa backwards by her hair and pushed three 
fingers into the slave's arse.
      "I'm sure she does really," said Colette, perhaps from a sense 
of guilt as she let loose globules of saliva between Lisa's legs that 
trickled through the tangled pubic hairs to help her lover make the 
desired ingress.
      And when Lisa groaned, more from pain than pleasure, this 
was taken as evidence that she did enjoy it and further redoubled her 
mistress' predations on her body.
      If Lisa's mistress was the model slave-owner, wondered Lisa, 
what were the others like?
      All she had to go on was the evidence of other slaves' beatings, 
but even if these weren't so visible, there was how slaves were so 
cowed, so beaten down: their eyes averted, the reflective wince 
whenever there was a sudden movement and a shuffling, undignified, 
unassertive manner that reinforced the impression amongst slave-
owners-and those who'd dearly love to be able to afford the cost of a 
slave-that slaves were somehow subhuman and deserved their 
treatment as one step in status below household pets (but still, perhaps, 
above farm animals). 
      And what had Lisa done to deserve her enslavement? 
      It was because she'd been on the wrong side of the mass 
demonstrations that flowed into the streets of Newfoundland's towns 
and cities when the American troops parachuted in. What chance had 
Lisa against helicopter gunships, remote-controlled drones and the 
military prowess of the most feared and most wealthy nation in the 
world? At least, she'd avoided the fate of the thousands who'd been 
gunned down in Downtown St. John's: news of which hadn't troubled 
any news program she'd seen since becoming an American slave.
      Lisa was eventually allowed to retire to her own bed, which 
was rather luxurious compared to that in her Newfoundland home. But 
then, in terms of slave welfare, Colette did indeed practice what she 
believed and which she had little difficulty in affording. Nonetheless, 
no feather-down duvet or memory-foam mattress could entirely 
compensate for the stinging pain on her buttocks and the raw ache in 
her violated crotch. But one advantage of a busy day spent scrubbing, 
vacuum cleaning, dusting, cooking, washing and ironing, let alone the 
other exertions she'd made for the benefit of her mistress, was that she 
was always tired when she went to bed and fell asleep almost 
immediately. 
      When she arose to do her morning duties before her mistress 
stirred from her bed, she was startled to find Tatyana sitting on a 
kitchen stool wearing only her unflattering underwear and with a 
cigarette in her hand. Normally, her mistress was awake long before 
her Russian lover. At first, Lisa thought that Tatyana had got up early 
only to realise that, in fact, she hadn't as yet settled down to sleep. She 
and Colette must have had a very passionate night together and one 
Lisa was glad not to have accompanied to the end.
      Tatyana was still tipsy and she supported a glass of red wine in 
her palm which she swilled around desultorily rather than sipped from. 
She smiled at Lisa as she walked naked and shoeless into the kitchen. 
      "Hello, dear," said Tatyana with an affectionate term of 
endearment she'd never used before. "I hope you're well?"
      Lisa nodded while wondering whether this was the Russian 
woman's way of apologising for her rough treatment the night before. 
But no. That was something neither Tatyana nor her mistress would 
ever apologise for.
      "Colette and I were talking about you last night," said Tatyana. 
"You know, about you being a slave and everything. She told me that 
she never lets you out of the house unaccompanied. Is that right, 
dear?"
      Lisa nodded again. Where was this leading to?
      "So, let's give you a moment of freedom, shall we, dear?" 
announced Tatyana. "Like a little bird. Free to flap your little wings. 
Take flight as you circle round the room let loose from your cage. 
You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
      Despite her fear of the consequences of even a moment of 
expressing herself openly, Lisa nodded. What she wanted more than 
anything was Freedom and a way to escape forever and return to 
sanctuary in Newfoundland.
      "So, let's get you dressed and out of the house before your 
mistress...er, before Colette wakes up. Though that's not likely to be 
for a long time, I'm sure. Do you have any clothes?"
      "Not suitable ones, madam," said Lisa. Like most slaves, the 
way she dressed made her subordinate role very apparent. No free 
woman would choose to wear the functional unbecoming outfits worn 
by slaves unless they'd lost their freedom by other means and were 
thus incarcerated for their crimes.
      "I anticipated that and it's fortunate that I always keep a change 
of clothes here," said Tatyana. "You never know what might happen 
when I visit and, indeed, in truth you don't..." She swirled her wine 
about in the glass and grimaced slightly after taking a sip which at this 
time in the morning no longer tasted so pleasant. "Colette proposed to 
me, you know. We're going to get married. We might have to go to 
Russia to perform the ceremony: they're a lot more liberal about things 
like that in the Empire, you know, ever since the Tsarina came out 
publicly."
      Tatyana pulled out a dress and shoes she'd hidden under the 
kitchen table. She'd been waiting for Lisa and had evidently already 
made arrangements. Lisa could sense a relentless flow of events that 
only her fear of punishment could bring to a premature end. There was 
no underwear, but that wasn't what really bothered Lisa who hadn't 
worn such things for a long time.
      "Do you have a scarf, madam?" she asked.
      "A scarf? It's not cold outside, is it?"
      "For my neck..."
      "Oh, the collar. Of course. Yes," she said as she walked into 
the hallway with Lisa trailing behind carrying the shoes and dress in 
her arms as if she was about to lay them down on a bed. "Ah, here's a 
nice silk scarf. All the way from the Empire's Polish territories. Pretty 
isn't it, dear?"
      Lisa nodded.
      "Well, put it all on and get out the door before I change my 
mind, dear," said Tatyana. "We'll see how much your mistress really 
is the thoroughly modern liberal, how much she really believes in the 
emancipation of slaves, what she really thinks..."
      And then Tatyana did a truly amazing thing. She let Lisa get 
dressed and then unlatched the front door and opened it wide. Outside, 
Lisa could see the tree-lined avenue tempting her with its suburban 
tranquillity. Swallows were swooping through the sky. Grey squirrels 
were gambolling in the trees and racing across the well-mown lawns. 
The early morning sun was casting long shadows in which could be 
seen daisies, tulips and daffodils. A small van drove past with its 
delivery of fresh croissants and groceries.
      "Come on, then!" said Tatyana.
      Fuck the consequences, thought Lisa. How many such 
opportunities would she ever have in a life of slavery that stretched 
ahead until death or, if Colette had her way, until tax-funded slave 
retirement when she was no longer economically viable. She strode 
forward, not bothering to look behind her or at Tatyana who was still 
holding open the door, and then she was walking beyond the door-
steps, through the metal gate between her mistress' brownstone house 
and the avenue beyond, and continued to stride in the direction she 
knew would soonest take her off Fairmount Avenue and to where she 
might truly escape.
      She walked fast-or as fast as she could in the slightly-too-
large stack-heeled shoes that Tatyana had given her-in the attempt to 
put as much distance as she could between her and her mistress' home. 
She couldn't walk as far as Newfoundland, of course. Not that she was 
certain that the newly rechristened Territory of Newfoundland was the 
right place to go, though that was where her friends and family lived; 
or at least those who'd not been shot or hadn't also become enslaved. 
Perhaps she should head south, though, of course, all of the Caribbean 
and most of Central America were either states incorporated into the 
Union, like the States of Belize and Yucatan, or were dependent 
territories awaiting incorporation. Perhaps given that she was still on 
America's East coast she should head further in that direction across 
the Atlantic Ocean to the European Union, the only part of the world 
other than the Antipodes and Japan that had entirely renounced the 
institutions of slavery.
      As she walked along, she could see daily life in the city as the 
sun began its slow climb. Commuters emerged from their homes and 
strode purposefully towards the subway or train station to take them to 
the office. The less wealthy, but still free, were opening shops, driving 
by in delivery vans, or walking with purpose but not a lot of haste to 
their places of work. But those who were not free, the slaves of 
America, they were the ones who weren't going anywhere, or if they 
did, generally in the company of their masters, their mistresses or their 
masters' children.
      The slaves didn't need collars to betray their status, although, 
by law, all of them had to. Their downtrodden demeanour, their 
shuffling stooping locomotion, their lowered heads and turned-away 
faces, their ingrained habits of servitude reinforced by fear of the 
consequences of transgression: all these were evidence as much as any 
collar, chain or manacle of a state of subservience. Most were black or 
brown. Many were Asian, from the slave-exporting nations to the 
south of Russia and to the north of Australia that as Tatyana had 
remarked were supplementing Africa's traditional role as the main 
source of human traffic. And there were those, like Lisa herself, who 
came from the New World, so long considered the importer rather than 
the exporter of slaves: the result of America's aggressive prosecution 
of the Monroe doctrine that had made most of South America a 
bottomless source of war booty and had cowed the last vestiges of 
independence in the Northern Hemisphere.
      Slaves were denied even basic dignity. How many freemen or 
freewomen were allowed to be naked in public gaze? Even in the 
public stocks which could be found in every public square or 
municipal park, only the slaves were denied clothes even though a free 
person guilty of crimes for which a slave would expect immediate 
death by hanging or lynching was just as likely to be punished in what 
was considered a cost-effective deterrent to crime. At least they no 
longer exhibited decapitated heads outside government buildings for 
the crimes of treason or un-American activities.
      Lisa strode hurriedly onward as if expecting to be stopped at 
any moment. She hurried through the parks, keeping in the shadow of 
the trees that lined the paths. She strode alongside the shop-windows 
that exhibited riches rare in Newfoundland but were on promiscuous 
display for the much wealthier citizens of the United States. She 
walked beneath the suspension bridges that spanned the river. She 
followed the path of the freeway along which trucks roared by. She 
walked beside the administrative offices of the Federal and State 
governments, whose uneasy relationship with one another caused more 
debate and disagreement amongst American voters than ever had the 
institution of slavery that a minority like Colette Tuchman-Lee 
campaigned against. 
      And eventually she paused, as she had to, right by a monument 
to the fallen soldiers in the Japanese War: the sole armed conflict in 
which America had failed to triumph and thereby still remained an 
affront to its national pride. Opposite her was a statue of President 
Joseph McCarthy, one of America's most liberal presidents, and just 
beside that an idealistic portrayal of Liberty with her sword unsheathed 
and the slogan beneath her bare sandaled feet: "Give me liberty or give 
me death." The monument beside and above her showed brave 
American soldiers, with their rifles thrust forward and bearing a look 
of determination, little knowing how desperately the Japanese would 
defend themselves. Indeed, so entrenched was American resentment of 
its defeat that had Japan not invented the Atom Bomb at about the 
same time as America and Russia, who knows how history since then 
might have been.
      "And at last she sits down!" said a voice from another figure 
that towered above Lisa. "I thought she'd never stop walking."
      "She's led us a real fucking merry chase, ain't she?" said a 
figure beside him.
      Lisa looked up with fear and apprehension and she was right to 
do so. Just above her were two policemen both armed with gun and 
nightstick.
      "Are you talking about me?" she asked nervously.
      "Who the fuck else is there, Lisa," said the first policeman.
      "Did you really think you'd get away with a collar round your 
neck, you little slut," said the other. "Or don't they have chip implants 
in fucking Newfoundland?"
      "What's going to happen to me?" implored Lisa.
      "You should be fucking glad you've got that do-gooding cunt 
Tuchman-Lee as a mistress, bitch," continued the second policeman. "I 
don't know what the fuck you should expect..."
      "Fifty lashes and a week in solitary at the very least I'd have 
thought."
      "Instead it'll be nothing worse than a couple of hours in the 
stocks..."
      "...And you, as a white bitch..."
      "Like a fucking whore!"
      "...can expect some leniency I guess. Nothing worse than a 
few rotten tomatoes and a mouthful of sewage..."
      "...or horse manure."
      "You can consider yourself fucking lucky!"
      "And I bet your fucking nigger dyke mistress ain't even gonna 
give you the beating you deserve when you're returned to her..."
      "In fact, I bet she'll stop at the whip..."
      "Me? I'd fucking cripple a slave of mine who'd absconded like 
you did, Lisa."
      "So, come along now, dear, and don't cause any trouble."
      "Because, believe me, any fucking excuse will do..."
      And so Lisa's brief moment of freedom was over all too soon. 
She had to face up to the fact that there was no likelihood of her ever 
being free for as long as she was a slave in the United States of 
America.
      And how could it ever have been any different?