For the love of Annibel
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I ain’t one uh these fellers who see bad luck in black cats and prophesy bad weather from sun - dogs or th’ shadow of th’ ground - hog, but, by cripes! any time I hears Magpie Simpkins massacreein’ “Sweet Adeline” I’m plumb wise. He stops jist outside th’ cabin door and enlightens me that “yore th’ flower - r - r - r - of my heart - t - t - t - , sweet Ade - e - e - eline. ” Magpie shore has ambition but when he comes to ability he don’ assay uh trace.
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