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'Well, the Lord love you, Sis, s' I; 'whar on the face er the yeth did you drap frum? s' I. I ketched 'er by the arm an' belt 'er off, an' s' I, 'Ef I don't have a tale to tell when I git home, no 'oman never had none, s' I. She took an' buss'd me right frontin' of all them jewlarkers, an' airter she 'uz gone I sot down an' had a good cry. That I did.
Here's what kin kyard when she gits her han' in, an' I b'leeve'n my soul I kyarded 'nuff bats to thicken all the quilts betwix' this an' Californy. The folks, they 'ud come an' stan', an' star', an' then they 'ud go some'rs else; an' then new folks 'ud come an' stan', an' star', an' go some'rs else. They wuz jewlarkers thar frum ever'wheres, an' they lookt like they wuz too brazen to live skacely.
"I bet a hoss," said Teague dryly, "that Sis wa'n't fur from thar when that bussin' wuz a-gwine on." "Who should it be but Sis!" exclaimed the old woman, leaning forward eagerly as she spoke. "Who else but Sis wuz a-gwine to grab me an' gimme a buss right here on the jaw, a-frontin' of all them jewlarkers?
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