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Updated: June 5, 2025
Yes, you do know; you can't play your odds on me. I'm not ready to swallow all I hear. I want you to tell me who that girl is, and how she came here." "I dunno, sah, sartin." "Matt, I don't believe a word you say; first tell me the truth." "Massar Benton, you're a queer man. Dis niggah shan't tell you no lies, but de Lord's truf, I dunno noffin 'bout."
Homesickness and friendships, how much and how vivid a part they play in the first year, or years, of school life! An old coloured physician was asked about a certain patient who was very ill. "I'll tell you de truf," was the reply. "Widout any perception, Phoebe Pamela may die and she may get well; dere's considerable danger bofe ways."
To tell da truf, de fac's o' de matter is, it was my Marstars kinfolks I was workin' for. "I bought me a schooner wid dat money an' carried charcoal to N'awlins. I done dis for 'bout two years an' den I los' my schooner in a storm off o' Bay St. Louis. "After I los' my schooner, I come here an' got married. Dis was in 1875 an' I was 43 years old. Dat was my firs' time to marry.
Now ef yer don't tell the truth I'll raise the kentry 'roun' en we'll hunt 'im to the eends of the yearth." "Well den, Marse Perkins," admitted the terror-stricken woman, "I des tell you de truf. Dat gran'boy ob min' des come ter say good-by. Marse Scoville daid en Chunk mos' up Norf by dis time, he went away so sud'n." "That Yankee cuss dead?" cried Perkins in undisguised exultation.
Starbuck, ef it's jest de same ter you, I blebe I'd like ter quit dis place." "Why do you want to quit? Don't I give you plenty to do?" "Oh, yas, suh; dat is on er pinch. But de truf is it 'pear ter me like things er gittin' sort er squawlly roun' yere. Dat man Peters he's threatenin' ter knock er nail kag in de head an' ring er dish rag an' I doan want ter git in no row.
Big Josh Bucknor's, and thereby saved him many a weary mile. "I'd take you all the way, Uncle Peter, but I can't trust my left hind tire up that bumpy lane," Judith explained. "Ain't it the truf, Missy? If Mr. Big Josh would jes stop talkin' 'bout it an' buil' hisse'f a road! He been lowin' he wa' gonter git busy an' backgammon that lane fer twenty-five years an he ain't never tech it yit.
"Well, suh, you is a stranger ter me, en I is a stranger ter you, en we is bofe strangers ter one anudder, but 'f I 'uz in yo' place, I wouldn' buy dis vimya'd." "Why not?" I asked. "Well, I dunner whe'r you b'lieves in cunj'in er not, some er de w'ite folks don't, er says dey don't, but de truf er de matter is dat dis yer ole vimya'd is goophered." "Is what?"
"Well, I dunno whe'r you b'lieves in cunj'in' er not, some er de w'ite folks don't, er says dey don't, but de truf er de matter is dat dis yer ole vimya'd is goophered." "Is what?" I asked, not grasping the meaning of this unfamiliar word. "Is goophered, cunju'd, bewitch'."
If you don't 'cide pretty quick, I'll put a big rock a-top o' you, an' stop fer you answer when I come back in de ebenin'. Now dis gib de 'possum a pow'ful skeer, an' 'twas cl'ar to his min' dat he mus' 'cide de question straight off. If he tole de truf, and said he was alibe, he'd be eat up shuh; but if he said he was dead, de bar mought b'lieve him.
'You've got better work in hand than talkin' rubbish, Paul retorted; 'stick to it. 'Ah, said the budding surgeon, 'well wait till the woman's conscious, if ever she is, and see what sort of a tale she has to tell. 'It's the simple truf he's tould ye, said the patient, in a feeble voice. 'What do ye be tryin' to frighten him for?
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