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Layin' dere jes' like a dead corpe, 'cept for breavin' hard," wept the woman. "Who is with him?" "Me mos' times an' young Mark. I jes' come down to speak 'long o' you, Marse Fabe, w'en I see de carriage dribe up." "Well, go back to your master. I will speak to my niece, and then come in," said Mr. Fabian, as he hurried out to the carriage.
I 'ad a back room, 'igh up, and o' nights I use to sit an' breave there, an' look at the sky. Believe me, dearie, I was mad about breavin' it was me only recreation, so to say. By Gawd, it's a fair wonder 'ow the sky an' the air keeps on above the mud, and 'ow we looks at it, an' breaves it, an' never pays no rent for it, when all's said an' done.
He t'ought his ole marse were dead sure, an' he come howlin' an' tumblin' down to me, an' tole me so, an' I called young Mark to follow me, case ole John wa'n't no good, an' I run up yere, an' an' an' dis yer is wot I foun'! O'ly he were a layin' on his lef side, an' I see he were breavin' an' I turn' him ober on his right, an' did all I could for him, an' sent John arter you."
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