“De nun dat sold it, didn’t say: Sh’o, its dreadful to t’ink ob po’ Mimi, an’ she soon a pilgrim all in blistehs an’ rags,” she commented, as a page boy with bejasmined ears appeared at the door.
“Me excuse....”
“How dare you come in, lil saucebox, widdout knockin’?”
“Excuse, missey, but....”
“What?”
Ibum hung his head.
“I only thoughted, it bein’ Crucifix day, I would like to follow in de procession thu de town.”
“Bery well: but be back in time fo’ dinner.”
“T’ank you, missey.”
“An’ mind fo’ once you are!”