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"Dar now," said Nimbus exultingly; "I 'llowed dar mus' be somethin' wrong 'bout it. They kep' tellin' me that you 'posed it, an' tole de Capting dat it couldn't never be held here wid your consent while you wuz in de school." "So I did." "You don't say? an' now yer's changed yer mind." "I have not changed my mind at all." "No? Den what made you say yer hadn't no 'jections, just now."
I er I done brung in you ain't no 'jections to lookin' at papers now, has you?" he asked hesitatingly. For when he went fishing the mere sight of a newspaper sometimes set Shag's master wild. "No," was the answer. "In fact I was going to send you out for the latest editions, Shag."
Dey's got dar chu'ches, an' dar ways, an' we's got our chu'ches, an' our ways. But den it's dif'rent wid you all. An' you all's not like white folks in gin'ral, an' 'specially strawngers. You all isn't strawngers now. I don't reckon dar'll be no 'jections to your comin', ef you set sollum, an' I know you'll do dat, Miss Annie, coz you did it when you was a little gal.
"Mister Wobbles, yer's prettin' on high de airs ter-night," Suky remarked, with an interrogation point in her voice. "Here's ter de health ob Mrs. Wobbles," he answered, lifting the cider to his lips. "I'se no 'jections ter dat. Who is she ter be?" replied Suky, very innocently. "It's not my 'tention ter go furder and far' wuss. Dis am a case wha de presen' company am not 'cepted."
"Go to your room, Miss Jane," she continued. "Don't let me know of your being in Nab's for one while." The storm was now visible to all beholders. Mr. Bellmont sought Jane. She told him her ob- jections to Henry; showed him George's letter; told her answer, the occasion of his visit.
It's yo' on'y chance; fur onct Marse Hi gits you 'way f'um heah, it'll be many a long day foh you sees yo' sweetheart ag'in. I tell you yo' pap's thet desprut dar's no tellin' whut he woan do teh keep you an' yo' sweetheart 'part. So doan let me heah no 'jections, but jes' listen to me.
Got any 'jections ter weuns warmin' up a little by dat fiah? Gittin' powful cold, boss, an' it jes' happens we ain't got nary a match in our clo's, dat's a fack," said the leader, advancing eagerly and holding out his hands toward the blaze. "Why, of course not, boys; make yourselves at home. I was just going aboard anyway, and the fire's yours," remarked Maurice, rising.
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