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Updated: May 6, 2025
She's ourn we found 'er, Job an' me seen 'er out in th' race, us did, floatin' s' pretty, an' folleyed 'er, us did, 'til she came ashore. She b'longs t' us, me lord, as Job'll swear to diskiver a corp' means money, an' corpses, 'specially sich pretty 'uns, don't come often enough " "Pah!" cried my uncle. "There is a hurdle over yonder, fetch it you!"
An' the polis say I'm dhrunk!" He gesticulated wildly, and to me it seemed just possible that the police might be right. "They say I'm drunk, sor," he continued, "but, begob, I b'lieve they think I'm mad. An' me being thracked an' folleyed an' dogged an' waylaid an' poisoned an' blandandhered an' kidnapped an' murdhered, an' for why I do not know!" "And who's doing all this?
Well, at the long and the last, when he thought there was nobody lookin', he crept down the wall an' folleyed wan o' the sarvants out o' the room, an' by good luck, the hall door was open, so the poor fellow made off wid himself as fast as he could. Down the road wid him till he come to where the Gout was sittin' waitin' for him at the crass roads. 'Is that yourself? says the Spider.
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