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"She say not'ing not one word on'y she smile a leetle, an' kiss her hand to him when he hoed away. It passes my compre'nshin, kite. An' as we rode home she says to me, says she, `Quashy, you's a good boy! I bery near say to her, `Manuela, you's a bad gurl, but I di'n't feel kite up to dat." "Quashy, you're a fool," said Susan, abruptly.
"Sooz'n," he said, "de white folk is past my compre'nshin altogidder, an' I ha'n't got words to tell you how t'ankful I am dat you an' me was born black." "Das true, Quash. We's got reasin to rejoice. But what went wrong?" "What went wrong? why, my lub, eberyt'ing went wrong. Look here, dis was de way ob it.
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