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MY PEOPLE
“What was that now, indeed, Mishtir Shinkins?”
“Why was you so dull? Sara Jane's portion, old boy.”
"Well-well, iss. Well-well, no. We're poor in Penrhos, Mishtir Shinkins. Poor.”
“Grudging you are with your money, Simon Penrhos.”
“Don’t he say like that. Make speech will I again with Beca.”
Mishtir Jenkins stretched his face towards Simon, and said:
“What would you say, Simon, if I asked you to give me Sara Jane’s portion this one small minute?”
“Waggish is his way, little Shinkins bach,” said Simon with pretended good-humour.
“My father had a farm and sovereigns and a cow when he wedded.”
“Open my lips to Beca I will about this,” answered Simon.
“Good, very,” replied Mishtir Jen-
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