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"Indeed you have got to pay to live," said John, stepping to the window and drawing up its painted paper shade. "Yes, and" "Ah!" exclaimed Mary, with gentle disapprobation. She met her husband's eye with a smile of protest. "John," she said, "Mr. " she couldn't think of the name. "Nahcisse," said the Creole.
"If you will pummit me yo' attention a few moment'." He bowed again and made way for Mary to precede him. "Mistoo Itchlin," he continued, going in, "in fact you don't give Misses Witchlin my last name with absolute co'ectness." "Did I not? Why, I hope you'll pardon" "Oh, I'm glad of it. I don' feel lak a pusson is my fwen' whilst they don't call me Nahcisse."
So now, Richling, a moment earlier borne down by the dreadful shadow of the Parish Prison, left it behind him as he walked and laughed and chatted with his borrower. He felt very free with Narcisse, for the reason that would have made a wiser person constrained, lack of respect for him. "Mistoo Itchlin, you know," said the Creole, "I like you to call me Nahcisse.
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