By this time, he had apparently accomplished all he desired; for moving the bottle out of Jack's reach, he appropriated it entirely to his own use, leaving the devoted lad to the care of the females. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. In a moment his grasp grew weaker.
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