Grandcestor

I thought 'twould give it a kind of flavor, if I polished up your grandcestor's old cover with the family cress, to put over it.

“Guardian dogs for some monastery in the Himalayas. Someone snatched them and came here. A couple of monks hired me to get them back.” “What, they don't have dog pounds in Tibet?” I shrugged. “The monks think their great-grandcestor was a divine spirit-animal ...”

Fancy knew that nose and those cheekbones. The woman looked the way Madda had when she was younger and less factory worn. The woman held out her arms. “It's been long since one of my own has seen me.” “Miz Cherry?” Fancy had to fight an insane urge to curtsy. Cherry shocked Fancy by taking her by the shoulders and kissing her cheek. Her touch was inhuman, cold and glassy like a porcelain doll, but after her initial flinch Fancy relaxed into her grandcestor's embrace.

A serious charge back then when bigotry was as natural to Southern Democrats as breathing. As a matter of fact, in political attack ads (Yes, they existed back then), Southern Democrats made cartoon drawings depicting Lincoln as a Negro, nicknaming him, “Abraham Africanus the First”. This may seem trivial to us today, but in the 1850s, if your greatgreat-great-great-great-great-grandcestor had one teeny weenie drop of African blood, you were considered a black person!