Miss Ma'y' Ellen," she said; "thank yer a thousand times.
You shoh'ly does know how toe comfort folks mighty well, even a pore ole nigger.

Law bless yer, honey, whut c'd I do without yer, me out yer all erlone?
Seems like the Lord done gone 'way fur off, 'n I kain't fotch him noways; but when white folks like Miss Ma'y Ellen Beecham come set down right side o' me an' sing wif me, den I know ther Lord, he standin' by listenin'.

Yas'm, he shoh'ly goin' to incline his eah!" Women are women.

There is no synonym.

Women, white and white, black and black, or, if need be, white and black, have sympathies and understandings and revealings which they never carry to the opposite sex.
It is likely that no man ever explored the last intricacy of that sweet and wondrous maze, a woman's heart; yet the woman who marries, and who has with her a husband, sets herself for the time outside the circle of all other husbandless women who may be about her.