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"Yas'm, come off an' furgot twenty-fi' cents dat I wanted to fetch wid me. I owes er quarter ter er crap-shootin' nigger ober dar, an' when I kain't pay him he gwine retch his han' up atter my wool. I doan want no big nigger retchin' atter me, caze I ain't right well dis mawin'. Co'se ef I wuz well I wouldn' mine it so much, but ez it is, it bodders me might'ly.
"In lub? In lub wid who?" He leaned toward her. "Wid you." "W'y you couldn't lub me," she said. "I's eighty odd an' you ain't but sixty. I's too old fur you. I doan want ter fool wid no chile." Kintchin came closer and made an attempt to take her hand, shrewdly watching the hot iron slowly moving over the bosom of a shirt. "I'll burn da black hide ef you doan git erway. You bodders me."
His meditations were suddenly interrupted by the unexpected appearance of the little Jewish tailor, who, breathless and panting, now came scrambling up on the platform and exclaimed: "Py gracious, Mr. Manning! I vas afraid you vas gone, and I hafe somedings on my mindt dot bodders me like de dickens!" "What is it that troubles you, Mr.
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