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"Dat you ain', honey, bless de Lawd! Ole miss neber stan' 'twix me en a whip, en she neber run fer my pipe en let her shol'er ache whiles I smokes like a ole himage. I'se only des a s'plainin' how dey feels 'bout yo' mar'age." "Ah, but mammy, you know how I feel about it. I won't marry my cousin if I can help it." "Hit's yo' feelin's, honey, w'at des riles up my in'erds so I kyant hardly wuk.
"Now, cap'n, fergib de ole man fer sayin' you all wrong. Haint young mistis been breakin' her lil gyurlish heart ober yo' trouble? Am de Lawd dat die fer us wuss'n a graven himage? Doan He feel fer you mo'n we kin? I reck'n you got des de bes' kin' of prep'ration ter go ter 'Im. You got trouble. How He act toward folks dat hab trouble ev'y kin' ob trouble?
"She lebe you des lak a cat dat snoop off enywhar en arter enybody w'at got mo' vittles. Wat she keer?" Down came the apron, revealing black eyes blazing through the tears which were dashed right and left as Zany cried, "You ole himage, w'at you keer? You tink a hun'erd times mo' ob yer pipe ner Miss Lou.
"Beg pardon, sir; I've got nothin' to do but sit here like a himage," said the coxswain; "I can reach down and bale." "Without shifting your feet?" "Yes, sir; look here."
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