Rodd was ‘specially miserable in these later years, now that all o’ his friends had already ‘scaped. But that didn’t keep him from his 16 hour workdays laying brick after brick, every day–as much o’ertime as he could get, which his employers & owners hungrily took.
He knew they wanted to get as much work out o’ him as possible before the public’s attention began to waver. He didn’t care: he just wanted control o’er himself finally.
Still, during the heart-crushingly tedious summer days that ne’er seemed to end, he’d constantly curse whatever god gave him the rare luxury o’ being born with golden skin–& thus a much higher price for emancipation.