"Oh what a pity one cannot sell one's quality for daily bread, or
trade off one's blue blood for black coffee."

"Miss Mime, is you out o' yo' haid?" asked Mammy Peggy in disgust and
horror.

"No, I'm not, Mammy Peggy, but I do wish that I could traffic in some
of my too numerous and too genteel ancestors instead of being
compelled to dispose of my ancestral home and be turned out into the
street like a pauper."

"Heish, honey, heish, I can' stan' to hyeah you talk dat-away. I's
so'y to see dee ol' place go, but you got to go out of it wid yo' haid
up, jes' ez ef you was gwine away fo' a visit an' could come back w'en
evah you wanted to."

"I shall slink out of it like a cur. I can't meet the eyes of the new
owner; I shall hate him."

"W'y, Miss Mime, whaih's yo' pride? Whaih's yo' Ha'ison pride?"

"Gone, gone with the deed of this house and its furniture. Gone with
the money I paid for the new cottage and its cheap chairs."

"Gone, hit ain' gone, fu' ef you won't let on to have it, I will. I'll
show dat new man how yo' pa would 'a' did ef he'd 'a' been hyeah."

"What, you, Mammy Peggy?"

"Yes, me, I ain' a-gwine to let him t'ink dat de Ha'isons didn' have