"Oh, my! my! my!" says Mary Ann, not paying the least attention to Miss Hitty's remarks. "My!" says she, "you'd ought to shuck them clothes. What you wastin' your time on boys fur? You was always hombly, Hitty; yes, but you're clean—I'll say that for you—you're clean. You stand some chance yet. You git married and shuck them clothes—but shuck them clothes anyhow!"
"'You git married and shuck them clothes'"
You could have heard her to Willet's Mountain. And away she flew.
Miss Hitty cried all the way home. I did my best to comfort her, but Mary Ann jabbed deep. She was child entirely when we reached her front door, and she turned to me just like a child.
"Must I wear different clothes, Will?" she says.
"Not a darn bit," says I. "Not for all the jealous, pop-eyed old Jezebels in ten townships."