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For two years, neither really daughter now nor really wife, not being obliged any longer even to make suggestions to her mother about what to have for dinner, not being obliged any longer even to think out the parties for Chunk's business friends, she did nothing but become more and more firmly fixed in her inertia, in her incapacity for hardship, in her horror of pain.
My haid gwine roun' lak dat ar brass rewster on de barn, wen' de win' blow norf en souf ter oncet." "No mattah 'bout yo' haid, Aun' Suke. Dat ain' no 'count. Hit's yo' han's dat de gin'ral want busy." "No mattah 'bout my haid, eh? Tek dat on yo'n den," and she cracked Chunk's skull sharply. "Dat's right, Aun' Suke, keep de flies away," remarked Chunk quietly.
Baron, wearied out, had retired, and Mr. Baron had resolved to spend the night in the dining-room, partly out of courtesy to the Confederate general and partly to be ready for any emergency. In the hall and on the front and rear piazzas were alert sentinels who would have observed and reported any unusual proceeding therefore Chunk's plan was the only feasible one.
Zany followed from the dining-room with her hands full of dishes. She gave Miss Lou a swift, significant glance, and that was all. Even she was sobered by the scenes witnessed that morning and the thought of Chunk's indefinite absence. Aun' Suke sat dozing in a corner, absolutely worn out, and other negroes from the quarters had been pressed into the service. Mrs.
"Uncle," said Miss Lou, firmly, "Aun' Jinkey doesn't know anything about Chunk's disappearance. I've been to her cabin and asked her." "As if the cunning old witch would tell you anything! Bring her here, I say, Perkins. It's time the spirit of insubordination on this place received a wholesome check." "Why!" exclaimed Mrs.
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