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Updated: May 21, 2025
Ishmael held up the squirming little thing as he spoke, and it licked its black nose nervously with a pink tongue that came out curled up like a leaf. "Ah! she'm rare and fond o' dumb animals, is our Phoebe," said the miller, who seemed gratified at this mark of attention. "So long as she can have some lil' weak thing to make a fool on she'm happy, I b'lieve. 'Tes a woman's way."
She'm a fine one. Not? My grandchild! My grandchild!" "You mustn't mind, Mr. Haas. That's the way she's done since since she's sick. Keeps repeating " "My grandchild! From a good mother and a bad father comes a good grandchild. My grandchild! She'm a good one. My " "Mamma, dearie, Mr. Haas is in a hurry. He's come to help me walk you into a little room to rest before we go home in Mr.
"Oh, Marse Houghton! come quick," yelled the negro. "She'm won' float anoder minit!" "Bail, you lubber!" "Don got notin to bail wid!" "As usual," growled Houghton. All the rest were now silent. In his agonized apprehension for Mara and Ella, Bodine felt his heart beat as it had never done in the bloodiest battle.
When all's said, us knaws the Lard Hissel weer mighty easy wi' the like o' she, an' worser wenches tu. But Michael God A'mighty knaws he won't be easy. She'm a damned wummon, I s'pose, but she's got to live through 'er life here damned or saved; an' she's got a thousand pound to do't with. A terrible braave dollop o' money, sure 'nough.
Tuffin commiseratingly; "but I don't advise 'ee to do it, my dear 'twouldn't be safe, an' you'd be bound to give 'em up one time or another. I d' 'low that maid be a-actin' as she be to spite ye more nor anythin' else; the more unwillin' you be, the more she'm pleased." "Very like," agreed Susan.
Laws, they'm two thrussels wi' one worm, and no mistake. 'And yet she's only a bit of a thing, you tell me? 'Ah! But she'm all on wires, to and agen like a canbottle. 'Why canna she bide with the minister? 'Lord only knows! It's for 'er good, and for the maister's and yours, not to speak of mine. It's werrit, werrit, all the while, missus, and the fingers in the tea-caddy the day long!
In hell ragin', roastin' hell screechin', I lay, like a cat in a bonfire. 'Tis lies they'll tell 'e 'bout her. She weern't drownded never. The devil set sail 'pon auld Chirgwin's hayrick, so they sez, an' her sailed 'long wi' en. But 'theer rings, they was so high that they was dreadful, an' theer rings weer full o' eyes round about. She'm damned, my son called, not chosen.
She was excited t' other day an' not mistress of herself ezacally; an' the crafty twoad took advantage of it, an' jawed, an' made her drink an' drink till her didn't knaw what her was sayin' or doin'. But she'm mine, an' she'll tell 'e same as what I do; so theer's an end on 't." "I'll see Mrs. Coomstock," said the Vicar. "I, myself will visit her to-morrow."
He peered out at them almost anxiously, Ishmael thought, and seemed rather upset at sight of him. "Who's that there?" he asked sharply; then, as Killigrew stepped forward round the porch: "I thought maybe Phoebe was weth 'ee." "Phoebe? Oh, no!" said Ishmael; "why, is she out?" "'Tes of no account," replied the miller. "I reckon she'm just gone down-along to see to the fowls or semthen.
'Twas a evil day, Thomas Chirgwin, when I fust seed them o' your blood an ill hour, an' you drives it red-hot into my brain with your actions. Bad, bad you be bad as that lyin', false, lost sinner theer a-draggin' out your cant o' forgiveness an' foolin' a damned sawl wi' falsehoods. You knaws wheer she'm gwaine; an' your squeakin', time-servin' passon knaws; an' you both tells her differ'nt!"
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