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They slackened their pace, two or three hushed their horns and joined the prayer of little White and Bienvenu for silence. The throng halted. The hush was delicious. "Bienvenu," said little White, "don't shivaree old Poquelin to-night; he's" "My fwang," said the swaying Bienvenu, "who tail you I goin' to chahivahi somebody, eh?
"But, gentlemen," said little White, around whom a circle had gathered, "the old man is very sick." "My faith!" cried a tiny Creole, "we did not make him to be sick. W'en we have say we going make le charivari, do you want that we hall tell a lie? My faith! 'sfools!" "But you can shivaree somebody else," said desperate little White. "Oui" cried Bienvenu, "et chahivahi Jean-ah Poquelin tomo'w!"
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