You can't hope to carry it out.

If you're taken, it will be worse with you than ever; they'll only abuse you, and half kill you, and sell you down the river." "Mr.Wilson, I know all this," said George.

"I _do_ run a risk, but--" he threw open his overcoat, and showed two pistols and a bowie-knife.
"There!" he said, "I'm ready for 'em! Down south I never _will_ go.
No! if it comes to that, I can earn myself at least six feet of free soil,--the first and last I shall ever own in Kentucky!" "Why, George, this state of mind is awful; it's getting really desperate George.

I'm concerned.

Going to break the laws of your country!" "My country again! Mr.Wilson, _you_ have a country; but what country have _I_, or any one like me, born of slave mothers?
What laws are there for us?
We don't make them,--we don't consent to them,--we have nothing to do with them; all they do for us is to crush us, and keep us down.
Haven't I heard your Fourth-of-July speeches?
Don't you tell us all, once a year, that governments derive their just power from the consent of the governed?
Can't a fellow _think_, that hears such things?
Can't he put this and that together, and see what it comes to ?" Mr.Wilson's mind was one of those that may not unaptly be represented by a bale of cotton,--downy, soft, benevolently fuzzy and confused.
He really pitied George with all his heart, and had a sort of dim and cloudy perception of the style of feeling that agitated him; but he deemed it his duty to go on talking _good_ to him, with infinite pertinacity.
"George, this is bad.