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Updated: May 7, 2025
Without more ado, he went to the piano and plunged into the heart-breaking melody of "Yo' gal's a neat gal, but my gal's sweet Sweet-a-little, sweet-a-little, sweet, sweet, sweet! Fum de crown er her head ter de soles er her feet Feet-a-little, feet-a-little, feet, feet, feet!"
I wuz settin' up talkin' wid my ole 'oman, kinder puzzlin' 'roun' fer ter see whar de nex' meal's vittles wuz a gwineter cum fum, an' I feel a little ache sorter crawlin' 'long on my jaw-bone, kinder feelin' his way. But de ache don't stay long. He sorter hankered 'roun' like, en den crope back whar he come fum.
I ain't bin useter no cunjun myse'f, but I bin livin' long nuff fer ter know w'en you meets up wid a big black cat in de middle er de road, wid yaller eyeballs, dar's yo' witch fresh fum de Ole Boy.
"So Hannibal slipped 'way fum de qua'ters one Sunday en hid in de co'n up close ter de big house, 'tel he see Chloe gwine down de road. He waylaid her, en sezee: "'Hoddy, Chloe? "'I ain' got no time fer ter fool wid fiel'-han's, sez Chloe, tossin' her head; 'w'at you want wid me, Hot-Foot? "'I wants ter know how you en Jeff is gittin' 'long. "'I 'lows dat's none er yo' bizness, nigger.
If you want gold, go fish it from the depth of the whirlpool," said Cap, taking her purse and casting it over the precipice. This exasperated the crone to frenzy. "Away! Begone!" she cried, shaking her long arm at the girl. "Away! Begone! The fate pursues you! The badge of blood is stamped upon your palm!" "'Fee faw fum'" said Cap. "Scorner! Beware! The curse of the crimson hand is upon you!"
"'We laks Hannibal de bes', en we gwine ter keep him. Heah, Hannibal, you'll wuk at de house fum now on. En ef you're a good nigger en min's yo' bizness, I'll gib you Chloe fer a wife nex' spring. You other nigger, you Jeff, you kin go back ter de qua'ters. We ain' gwine ter need you.
Me en Miss Maria's chile. En now he soldier en gwine to de war! Me en 'im far fum home, en he gwine to de war!" She threw her white apron over her head. Emma hated to have anybody see her cry. So Peter Champneys went to the war, along with the other artists of France, and was made use of in many curious ways.
Gryce, and proceeded immediately to the house of Mr. Veeley. "Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman." Old Song. "I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted." Measure for Measure. "YOU have never heard, then, the particulars of Mr. Leavenworth's marriage?" It was my partner who spoke. I had been asking him to explain to me Mr. Leavenworth's well-known antipathy to the English race.
He 's gwine ter walk down ez fur ez Mistah Jim Williams's, en take de buggy fum dere ter town. He 'spec's ter be gone a long time, suh, en say prob'ly he ain' neber comin' back." The man drove on. There were a few words exchanged in an undertone between my wife and Mabel, which I did not catch. Then Annie said: "Julius, you may stop the rockaway a moment.
She could hab de noo house boy fer a husban'. But ole mis' say, no, Chloe ain' dat kin'er gal, en dat Mars' Dugal' sh'd buy Jeff back. "So Mars' Dugal' writ a letter ter dis yer spekilater down ter Wim'l'ton, en tol' ef he ain' done sol' dat nigger Souf w'at he bought fum 'im, he'd lack ter buy 'im back ag'in. Chloe 'mence' ter pick up a little w'en ole mis' tol' her 'bout dis letter.
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