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Old Bob, the preacher, rises and fixes his eyes severely on the small fry near the door: "We's gwine to wushup de Lawd, an' I desiah dem chilluns to know dat no noise nor laffin', nor no so't o' onbehavin', kin be 'lowed; so min' wot you's 'bout dere. You yerry me?
Dem bwoy kin blow ebry day eben Sunday dem kin blow. When ah yerry dem blow Sunday ah wish dah bugle kin go down na dem troat or dem kin blow them head-bone inside. Do nah beg you yah tell all dem people 'bout dah ting wah dem two bwoy dah blow. Till am Amtrang Boboh hab febah bad. Till am titty carn sleep nah night. Dah nize go kill me two pickin, oh! Plabba done. Good by Daddy. Crashey Jane."
While we went the sun slowly sank through a golden light toward the purple sea, among temples, towers, and altars of cloud. As we neared this bridge two black men crossing it from opposite ways stopped and spoke low: "Yes, me yerry it; dem say sich t'ing' as nebber bin known befo' goin' be done in West-En' town to-night." "Well, you look sharp, me frien' "
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