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Replace global system test files with local ones and add tests
Instead of using '/etc/hosts' and similar files for testing it is more portable and 'unit test'-like to use files provided with this repository. Add tests to verify files specified not as paths (str) but as py.path.local are accepted as well.
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CHAPTER I. | ||
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YOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The | ||
Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by | ||
Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he | ||
stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen | ||
anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the | ||
widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly—Tom's Aunt Polly, she is—and Mary, and | ||
the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true | ||
book, with some stretchers, as I said before. | ||
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Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money | ||
that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six | ||
thousand dollars apiece—all gold. It was an awful sight of money when it | ||
was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, | ||
and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round—more than a | ||
body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas she took me for her | ||
son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the | ||
house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow | ||
was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand it no longer I lit out. | ||
I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and | ||
satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and said he was going to start | ||
a band of robbers, and I might join if I would go back to the widow and be | ||
respectable. So I went back. | ||
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The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she | ||
called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it. | ||
She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing but sweat | ||
and sweat, and feel all cramped up. Well, then, the old thing commenced | ||
again. The widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come to time. | ||
When you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating, but you had to | ||
wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the | ||
victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with them,—that | ||
is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. In a barrel of odds and | ||
ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of swaps | ||
around, and the things go better. |
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