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"That's better," he said at last.
"
You got to get married," said Uncle Pentstemon. "Some has. Some
hain't. I done it long before I was your age. It hain't for me to
blame you. You can't 'elp being the marrying sort any more than me.
It's nat'ral-like poaching or drinking or wind on the stummik. You
can't 'elp it and there you are! As for the good of it, there ain't no
particular good in it as I can see. It's a toss up. The hotter come,
the sooner cold, but they all gets tired of it sooner or later.... I
hain't no grounds to complain. Two I've 'ad and berried, and might
'ave 'ad a third, and never no worrit with kids--never....
"You done well not to 'ave the big gal. I will say that for ye.
She's a gad-about grinny, she is, if ever was. A gad-about grinny.
Mucked up my mushroom bed to rights, she did, and I 'aven't forgot it.
Got the feet of a centipede, she 'as--ll over everything and neither
with your leave nor by your leave. Like a stray 'en in a pea patch.
Cluck! cluck! Trying to laugh it off. I laughed 'er off, I did.
Dratted lumpin baggage!..."
For a while he mused malevolently upon Annie, and routed out a
reluctant crumb from some coy sitting-out place in his tooth.
"
Wimmin's a toss up," said Uncle Pentstemon. "Prize packets they are,
and you can't tell what's in 'em till you took 'em 'ome and undone
em. Never was a bachelor married yet that didn't buy a pig in a poke.
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