human
He warn't dead, then, hafter hall? said Miss Priscilla, sharply, in a voice that seemed made of steel-springs.
gpt
Well, I never! Going hand fright'ning respectable parties hout their wits with 'orrid black niggers, firing hoff of pistols hand cannons; lying there in the mud making believe dead; hand shooting me somewhere--for I can feel the balls hinside hof me; spoiling a good new suit hof clothes, rolling there like a pig, and not dead, hafter hall; hand that there nigger shooting away like mad hall the time, which his a mercy to be thankful for! Wah! wah!