She was sure he had claimed a hundred and one years at his last party. He was only half that, wich meant he was the oldest slave anyone on the two Randall plantations had ever met. Once you got that old, you might as well be ninety-eight or a hundred and eight. Nothing left for the world to show you but the latest incarnations of cruelty.
The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead (page 29)
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