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Updated: May 25, 2025
He walked in, in his slouching fashion, shook hands with M. Perritaut, gave his name as David Sawney, cawntracter, and after talking a little about the county-seat question, he broached the question of marriage with Mathilde Perritaut. "I hearn tell that you are willin' to do somethin' han'some fer a son-in-law." "Varee good, Mistare Sonee. You air a man of bisnees, perhaps, maybe.
"Eh bien! How you do, Mistare Sonee? Is eet dat you weel have a peench of snuff?" For the Frenchman had quite forgotten Dave's mishap in snuff-taking, and offered the snuff out of habitual complaisance. "No, musheer," said Dave, "I can't use no snuff of late yeers. 'Fection of the nose; makes me sneeze dreffle." "Oh! Eh blen! C'est comme il faut. I mean dat is all right, vare good, mistare.
"I weel promees in the contract to geeve you one ten tousant tollars deux mille two tousant avery yare for fife yare. Très bien. My daughtare is educate; she stoody fife, seex yare in te convent at Montreal. Zhe play on piano evare so many tune. Bien. You come Monday. We weel zee. Adieu. I mean good-by, Mistare Sonee." "Adoo, musheer," said Dave, taking his hat and leaving.
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