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Miss Dorry ain' no Varick; Miss Dorry all Ormond, suh, dess lak you an' me! Yaas, suh, h'its dat-a-way; h'it sho' is, Mars' Ormond." I drew a deep, quivering breath. Home seemed so far, and the old slave would never live to see it. I felt as though this steel-cold North held me, too, like a trap never to unclose. "Cato," I said, abruptly, "let us go home."
'E's Lord D'Lisle and Dudley, of Penshurst Place h'in Kent, 'im as is descended direct from the Lady Mary, sister of Robert Dudley, 'o married Sir 'Enry Sidney. H'its 'e 'o appoints the master h'over us this very day. But as I was saying, it was 'ere that 'is Majesty King James was right royally h'entertained." "Yes," broke in John, interrupting the rapid flow of expressionless words.
Died o' I must have it all pat on the tongue. What did he die of, Brand? You're an artful little feller, settin' there so smug and secret like a hen crocodile a-hatchin' h'out h'its h'egg." "Lung-trouble's best, sir," replied the little jockey gravely. "I reck'n you can't go far with lung-trouble. See, we all dies o' shortness o' breath in the latter end.
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