[Guy Rivers: A Tale of Georgia by William Gilmore Simms]@TWC D-Link book
Guy Rivers: A Tale of Georgia

CHAPTER VIII
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Besides, master is a friendly word, and comes easy to the tongue.

I never, for my part, could see the sense in mister, except when people go out to fight, when it's necessary to do everything a little the politest; and, then, it smells of long shot and cold business, 'squire.

'Tisn't, to my mind, a good word among friends." The youth smiled slightly at the distinction drawn with such nicety by his companion, between words which he had hitherto been taught to conceive synonymous, or nearly so; and the reasons, such as they were, by which the woodman sustained his free use of the one to the utter rejection of the other.

He did not think it important, however, to make up an issue on the point, though dissenting from the logic of his companion; and contented himself simply with a repetition of the question in which it had originated.
"Why, I take shame to answer you rightly, 'squire, seeing I am no wiser and no better than I am; but the whole secret of the matter lies in the handle of this little hatchet, and this I made out of a live-oak sapling some sixteen years ago--It's much less worn than I, yet I am twice its age, I reckon." "You are now then about thirty-two ?" "Ay, just thirty-two.

It don't take much calculating to make out that.
My own schooling, though little enough for a large man, is more than enough to keep me from wanting help at such easy arithmetic." With the exception of an occasional and desultory remark or two, the conversation had reached a close.


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