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Old Allister, your creat her own crandfather, was ta pest horseman ta worlt efer saw, and he'll nefer pe hafing ta trews to his own lecks nor ta saddle to his horse's pack. He'll chust make his men pe strap on an old plaid, and he'll be kive a chump, and away they wass, horse and man, one peast, aal two of tem poth together."
Mon Dieu! How can you haf ze heart to say ze cruel word. Corinne, you are ze only frient I haf in ze whole bad worlt." "Yes, I know that. But not the only wife." "Why you torture me so, Corinne?" "I wont. We'll let it go. You need me, I suppose?" "You use all ze cold word, Corinne. I neet you! Oui, oui, I efer neet you. I neet you ven I stay from you ze longest.
'Nopoty loaf you, pot I will not exchange you for somepoty in ze worlt, One zing your Mutter pegs you, to rememper, sayt she to me, 'learn vell, ant be efer one honest man; zen Got will not forsake you. Ant I triet so to become. Ven my fourteen year hat expiret, ant me coult partake of ze Holy Sopper, my Mutter sayt to my Vater, 'Karl is one pig poy now, Kustaf.
"Mayor Shaughness'," continued the Cuban; "he nev'r-a lo-va you' thaughter." Galahad was putting the maiden back from the door with his hand. "Pauline," he said, "it's a lie!" "An', Senor," pursued the Cuban, "if a was possiblee you' thaughter to lo-va heem, a-wouth-a be worse-a kine in worlt; but, Senor, I" M. D'Hemecourt made a majestic sign for silence.
"Yes," he resumed as he leant back in his arm-chair and adjusted his dressing-gown, "I have experiencet many sings in my life, pot zere is my witness," here he pointed to an image of the Saviour, embroidered on wool, which was hanging over his bed "zat nopoty in ze worlt can say zat Karl Ivanitch has been one dishonest man, I would not repay black ingratitude for ze goot which Mister L dit me, ant I resoluted to ron away.
The law is ag'in 'em, right is ag'in 'em, and every true friend of liberty in the country ought to be ag'in 'em." "Vhat ist der matter in dis coontry? I hear in Europe how America ist a free lant, ant how efery man hast his rights; but since I got here dey do nothin' but talk of barons, and noples, and tenants, and arisdograts, and all der bat dings I might leaf behint me, in der olt worlt."
''Fraid she won't never be very good t' worlt. 'Why not? I enquired. 'Han's are too little an' white, he answered. 'She won't have to, I said. He cackled uproariously for a moment, then grew serious. 'Her father's rich, he said, 'the richest man o' Faraway, an I guess she won't never hev anything t' dew but set'n sing an' play the melodium. 'She can do as she likes, I said.
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