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"Yes," he continued, "we've been a-straddlin' along through troublements and trialments and afflickaments, hanging out our phiols down by the cold streams o' Babylon, and not gittin' nothin' in 'em, hohum!" Vibrating thus mysteriously, and free and unconfined, between exhortation and prayer, Elder Cossey finally merged into a recital of his own weakness and vileness as a miserable sinner.
I jest knows a hoss when I sees one." "Yer don't call thet a hoss yer a-straddlin', I hope?" "I shore do. He ain't much fer ter gaze on admirin', I agree, but he's a good little cayuse. I reckon, now, yer some proud o' thet magpie hoss." "I be. It kin outrun anythin' this side o' ther State o' Newbrasky." "P'r'aps yer lookin' fer a race ter see what ther best we've got in camp kin do, no?"
"Well, yer alluded ter a magpie hoss as couldn't do nothin' but lope." "I ain't never see none what could do much more." "You ain't never see Magpie split ther wind, then." "I ain't." "Mebbe ye'd like ter." "Mebbe I would." "I reckon yer thinks ther cow what yer a-straddlin' of now kin run some." "A leetle bit.
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