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The Individual, with his usual caution, inquired how much she proposed to charge for her services. She responded thus: “I tell your fortoon fier ein tollar, or I can tell your fortoon fier ein half-tollar.”
You was born under goot blanet, vera nice blanet, you have vera nice fortoon.
Fifty cents’ worth was enough to begin with, so she took his left hand in her huge fist, and as a preliminary operation squeezed it till he gave it up for lost, and in the intervals of his suffering hastily ran over in his mind the various ways in which one-handed people get a living; then she relented and did not deprive him of that useful member, but said: “You have goot hand, vera goot hand—your hand gifs you goot fortoon.
These did not seem to communicate anything of very special importance in addition to what she had already said, for she examined them closely and then merely summed up as follows: “Goot fortoon, goot blanet, goot vifes, blenty monish, mooch kindes, not more troubles in der footoor years, big friends, bresident mooch friends mit you, lif long, ninety-nine years before you die, leave fortoon to vife und two kindes.”
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