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So, a true English country gentleman, he has perhaps an exaggerated passion for the pleasures of the chase and when questions touching them arise, seems simply to be devoid of the ethical sense. He 's not a whit worse than his human neighbours and he 's a hundred times handsomer and more intelligent." Susanna, smiling a little, looked down at Patapouf, and considered.
Then she shook her finger, and frowned, at Patapouf. "Oh, you bad cat! You cruel cat!" And raising eyes dark with reproach to Anthony's, "Yet he seems to be a friend of yours?" she wondered. Anthony, the bird in safety, could tingle anew to the deep notes of her voice, could exult anew in their dual solitude.
Cats have a very high sense of their personal freedom they hate to be tied up. Well, if we tie Monsieur Patapouf to this tree, so that he can't get away, and leave him alone here for an hour or two, he will conceive such a distaste for everything connected with this tree that he will never voluntarily come within speaking distance of it again." "Really?
Anthony held Patapouf, who, flattered by their attentions, and unsuspicious of their ulterior aim, submitted quietly, while Susanna adjusted the collar to his neck. They had to stand rather close together during this process; I am not sure that sometimes their fingers did n't touch. From Susanna's garments from her hair? rose never so faint a perfume, like the perfume of violets.
His body resembled a hogshead, his mouth an oven, and his lips we dare not say what. He was known in the town by the name of Patapouf. They dug out a fresh lump for him from the middle of the tart. It quickly vanished in his vast interior, and he retired with great dignity, proud to maintain the honour of his name and the glory of the Greedy Kingdom.
But the next day, even he, the very last, appeared no more. The unfortunate Patapouf had succumbed, and, like all the other inhabitants of the country, was in a very bad way. In short, it was soon known that the whole town had suffered agonies that night from too much tart. Let us draw a veil over those hours of torture. Mother Mitchel was in despair.
"Yes," he acknowledged, "Patapouf is a friend of mine he is even a member of my household. You must try not to think too ill of him. He really is n't half a bad sort at bottom. But he 's English, and he lives in the country.
Hovering near them, Patapouf was busy with a game of make-believe pretending that the longish grass was a jungle, and himself a tiger, stalking I know not what visionary prey: now gingerly, with slow calculated liftings and down-puttings of his feet, stealing a silent march; now, flat on his belly, rapidly creeping forward; now halting, recoiling, masking himself behind some inequality of the ground, peering warily over it, while his tail swayed responsive to the eager activity of his brain; and now, having computed the range to a nicety, his haunches wagging, now, with a leap all grace and ruthlessness, a flash of blackness through the air, springing upon the creature of his fancy.
"Yes," thought Anthony, left to himself, "barring happy accidents, I must wait till Sunday." And he went into the park. "The nuisance," he said to Patapouf, as he released him, "the nuisance of things happening early is that they 're just so much the less likely to happen late. The grudge I bear the Past is based upon the circumstance that it has taken just so much from the Future.
I am quite sure that Anthony's heart was in a commotion. "There," she remarked, finishing the collar with a bow, and bestowing upon the bow a little tap of approbation; "red and black it's very becoming to him, is n't it?" Then she tied Patapouf to the tree, leaving him, in charity, perhaps twice his own length of tether free, and resumed possession of her book and beads.
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