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Updated: May 24, 2025
But he was dar an' now he's jus' a membuh of ouah pahty, suh, as good as Cunnel Doolittle. Hit don't seem right to me, suh; no suh, hit don't seem right to me." "Why, Neb!" "An' dat Miss Barbara! She was dead sot to see you, an' Miss 'Lethe was compelled to ax her fo' to come along. She didn't mean to, fust off; no suh. But she had to, in de end.
"Der wuz Levi, Floyd, Henry, Noah, an' Nancy, jes' my haf brudders an' sistahs, but I neber knowed no diffrunce but whut dey wuz my sistahs an' brudders." "Where we liv? On Marsa John Alexander's farm, he wuz a good Marsa too. All Marsa John want wuz plenty wurk dun and we dun it too, so der wuz no trubble on ouah plantashun. I neber reclec' anyone gittin' whipped or bad treatment frum him.
Dar's de 'simmon tree way down yonder in the meadow, whar we all use ter set ouah ole hyar traps. You ain' furgot dose ole hyar traps, Marse Dan?" "Forgotten them! good Lord!" said Dan; "why I remember we caught five one Christmas morning, and Betty fed them and set them free again." "Dat she did, suh, dat she did! Hit's de gospel trufe!"
D'yuh reckon that theah was evah ary white man, ceptin' he were sick er asleep, that passed in his chips to sech a passd o' pulin' polecats like this yeah bunch we've jes' been bendin' ouah guns ovah? Gawd! Ken, I'll stink o' gawlic fer a week!
There were two principal streets, cutting each other at right angles, each more than a hundred yards long and jammed with buildings of frame and sod. Kid Wolf read the signs on them as the horse trotted southward: "Bar. Tony's Place. Saloon. General merchandise. Saddle shop. Bar. Saloon. Hotel and bar. Well, well, seems as if we have mo' than ouah share o' saloons heah.
"But I'm sayin' that ain't life. I'm sayin' I ain't been fitted fo' wo'k. I 'ain't been educated. I've lived in a log- cabin down in the Virginia mountains all man life. I left thah six weeks ago, after mah mother died. She was the last of ouah family but me. I 'ain't never been to school. She taught me to read in the Bible, an' to write.
He turned to the door, murmuring, "My wife gone, Kit a nobody, an' Joe, little Joe, a murderer, an' then I I ust to pray to Gawd an' call him 'Ouah Fathah." He laughed hoarsely. It sounded like nothing Fannie had ever heard before. "Don't, Be'y, don't say dat. Maybe we don't un'erstan'." Her faith still hung by a slender thread, but his had given way in that moment.
"And our little Sim, he just loved that Muley cow, little Sim, he did," she mourned. "Say, Jim Bowles, do you heah me?" this with a sudden flirt of the sunbonnet in an agony of actual fear. "Why, Jim Bowles, do you know that ouah little Sim might be a-playin' out thah in front of ouah house, on to that railroad track, at this very minute? S'pose, s'posen along comes that thah railroad train!
His hands were raised wildly over his head in token of surrender. But that made no difference to Hardy. There was a dull spat, and Blake went sprawling, shot through the heart. "I hope nobody else tries that," drawled The Kid. "When we go, let's go togethah. By the light of this fiah they can see the colah of ouah eyes. We haven't a chance in the world to escape that way."
"Well, how were you to use this business name?" "Well, it was des dis away. Sis' Jane Callender, she gwine git huh pension, but la, chile, she tuk down sick unto deaf, an' Brothah Buford, he say dat she ought to mek a will in favoh of somebody, so's de money would stay 'mongst ouah folks, an' so, bimeby, she 'greed she mek a will." "And who is Brother Buford, Aunt Dicey?" "Brothah Buford?
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