Wallace Thurman: Hello sir, I was wondering if I could get any work here as a ghost writer.
Person #2: Hehlluh, weh just mihght beh ahbleh tuh hehlp yuh uht. Hahveh yuh wuhked ahs ah ghuhst wrihtehr behfu?
Thurman: Yeah, I’ve actually done several jobs as one before. I’ve written a novel under my own name, as well.
Person #2: Greht! Yuh areh juhst theh typeh uhf pehrson weh’reh luhkihn fuh!
Thurman: That’s great news. When can I start working?
Person #2: Ihn tihm, ihn tihm. Fuhrst weh hahveh tuh geht duhwn yuhu pehrsuhnahl infuhrmahtiuhn.
Thurman: Okay, simple enough.
Person #2: Heh, Ih thihnk knuhw yuhu! Arehn’t yuh the guy whuh wruhte that “Blahckehr Behrriehs” buhk?
Thurman: It’s actually called The Blacker the Berry: A Novel of Negro Life, and yes I am.
Person #2: Ahw, snahp! Thah ihs mah muhthehs fahvuhrite buhk!
Thurman: Well, I’m glad she liked it. Sign here?
Person #2: Yehs, yehs. Ih lihked yuh buhk, ahs wehll. Tahnks, wehll cuhntahct yuh ahs suhn ahs weh cehn geht yuh ahn ahsihnmehnt.
Thurman: Thanks, I look forward to it.
Person #2: Guhd dahy tuh yuh, sih.
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