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Updated: June 2, 2025
Aun' Jinkey made a sort of rush to the door, exclaiming in tones that were low, yet almost stern, "Marse Linkum man, ef you show yo'sef ef you doan stay by dat ar ladder so you git up sud'n, I des troo wid dis bus'ness! Tain' far ter dem w'at's reskin' dere bodies en a'most dere souls!" "You are right, aunty," said Scoville, retreating.
First she'd go ahead on one tack and then give a heave over and come about with a bang, sails flapping and everything of a shake; then she'd give another slat and go off another way; but mainly she kept right on toward the island. "'W'at's the matter aboard there? says Hammond. 'Is hall 'ands drunk? "'She's abandoned, says I. 'That's what's the matter. There ain't NOBODY aboard of her.
Mebbe you don' care if she does get marry, eh?" "Not if she gets a man that will treat her right." "Wal! Wal! Dere's no trouble 'bout dat," exclaimed Doret, fervently. "No man w'at's livin' could treat her bad. She's too good an' too purty for have bad husban'." "She is, is she?" Gale turned on him with a strange glare in his eyes. "Them's the kind that get the he-devils.
Wen I paddle close up, I don' know 'im no more dan stranger, an' me an' Johnnie Platt is trap togeder wan winter. Wat you t'ink of dat?" "I saw a fellow killed that way at Holy Cross," interpolated the trader. "'Hello, I say, 'w'at's de matter? An' den I see somet'ing 'bout 'im dat look familiar. Hees face she's all swell' up an' bleedin' lak' raw meat."
Ef he had come f'om roun' yere I 'd be skeered ter keep 'im, fer de w'ite folks 'u'd prob'ly be lookin' fer 'im. But I knows ev'ybody w'at's be'n conscripted fer ten miles 'roun', an' dis yere boy don' b'long in dis neighborhood. W'en 'e gits so 'e kin he'p 'isse'f we 'll put 'im up in de lof an' hide 'im till de Yankees come.
"W'at's eatin' you? Is they an answer?" "They ain't no answer," P. Sybarite admitted. "Well, whatcha want? I got no time to stick round here kiddin'." "One moment of your valuable time. I believe you delivered a message at the Monastery Apartments in Forty-third Street this morning." "Well, an' what 'f I did?" "Only this."
Marylyn was moving about inside, and calling. But he was beyond thought for another. "Bosh! bosh!" he cried. "She's got t' stop bein' coddled an' know w'at's w'at. You got t' stop talkin' Fort. Ah'm goin' t' ketch thet low-down skunk 'thout no soldiers. An' Ah'll pepper his ugly hide! Ah'll make him spit blood like a broncho-buster. Th' idee o' his havin' th' gall!"
Your chapter of family history is quite interesting, I knew part of it before, in a general way; but you haven't yet told me what brought on Mrs. Carteret's trouble." "I'm jes' comin' ter dat dis minute, suh, w'at I be'n tellin' you is all a part of it. Dis yer Janet, w'at's Mis' 'Livy's half-sister, is ez much like her ez ef dey wuz twins.
Bekaze ef dey er foun' a stray nigger layin' 'roun' loose, wid 'is bref gone, den I wanter go home an' git my brekfus' an' put on some clean cloze, an' 'liver myse'f up ter wunner deze yer jestesses er de peace, an git a fa'r trial." "Why, have you killed anybody?" "Dat's w'at's I'm a 'quirin' inter now, but I wouldn't be sustonished ef I ain't laid a nigger out some'rs on de subbubs.
"Well, I'm glad I'm here, anyway," said the girl, pressing his arm, "and Mammy Riah's glad, too, though she won't confess it. Aren't you just delighted to see Jack again, Mammy?" The old negress grunted in her corner of the carriage. "I ain' seed no use in all dis yer fittin'," she responded. "W'at's de use er fittin' ef dar ain' sumpen' ter fit fer dat you ain' got a'ready?"
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