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Updated: April 30, 2025
The old man regarded him calmly, but also with a strange, wistful, sad look. 'I had thought of it. But is there no other way, Alfred? 'No. I'm broke. I'm done. If you want to save Kingscourt, that's the only way. 'And you? 'I've had my turn; I can't complain. Sooner or later Jinny'll bolt. Then I'll go to the States and try my hand at something.
Good, plain, common cookin', Jinny'll do; make a good pone o' bread, bile her taters far, her corn cakes isn't extra, not extra now, Jinny's corn cakes isn't, but then they's far, but, Lor, come to de higher branches, and what can she do? Why, she makes pies sartin she does; but what kinder crust? Can she make your real flecky paste, as melts in your mouth, and lies all up like a puff?
She doesn't know it. She's a woman, and I reckon you're a white man." "But what am I to say? How am I to go back of my word?" "Write her a note. You needn't be afeard Jinny'll ever ask you what." John Ashe hesitated. He felt he had been cruelly wronged. No gentleman, no Ashe, could go on further in this affair. It was preposterous to think of it.
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