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What makes you so like her? It's not the face so much, though the family likeness runs strong, still, the face is different, though like It's just you yourself well, I'm sure I don't know, seems to me there's a lot of things hid from us. Look at the Pringles, Anthony's family, the ones that live in Tradd Street. If you put their noses together, they'd reach to Legare Street. It runs in the family.
Run away from the subscriber, his negro fellow, John. He is well known about the city as one of my bread carriers: has a wife living at Mrs. Weston's, on Hempstead. John formerly belonged to Mrs. Moor, near St. Paul's church, where his mother still lives, and has been harbored by her before. JOHN T. MARSHALL. 60, Tradd street."
So, taking him by the hand, they proceeded together until they reached the termination of the Causeway, and were about to enter Tradd street, when suddenly a guard-man sprang from behind an old shed. The negro, recognising his white belt and tap-stick, made the best of his time, and set off at full speed down a narrow lane.
Alexander M'Queen, Tradd street, he was so frequently pressed to bumpers of old wine, that he found himself in a fair way to get drunk. 'Twas in vain he attempted to beat a retreat. The company swore, that that would never do for general Marion.
Cotton of Tradd Street, he told me that the truth about young William Pringle's death was that he was black when he died, from cigarette smoking, black as a crow. Used to smoke before breakfast, used to smoke all day, used to smoke in his sleep, I b'lieve. Couldn't get rid of the pesky habit and died clinging to it, black as a crow. I can't abide the things.
Cotton it was who told me, the one who used to live in Tradd Street, he was a relative of Dr. Garden the man that gave his name to that flower they call the gardenia had it sent him from somewhere in the South, but I'm sure I don't know where New Orleans, I think, but it doesn't matter. I was saying about Dr. Cotton, old Dr.
"You'll come, won't you, Sylvia?" said Flora, putting her arm over the little girl's shoulders as they went up the steps. "Yes, indeed; thank you very much for asking me," replied Sylvia. She had visited the Hayes plantation early in the summer, and thought it a more wonderful place even than the big mansion on Tradd Street where the Hayes family lived in the winter months. Mr.
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