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Updated: June 12, 2025
At the tea-house of the Indescribable Butterflies, which is also full to overflowing, but where we are well known, they have had the bright idea of throwing a temporary flooring over the little lake the pond where the goldfish live and our meal is served here, in the pleasant freshness of the fountain which continues its murmur under our feet.
That is why there are not a few things that choke me which I should like to spit out, but which I swallow. Why say them, in fact! The first comer is more interesting than Monsieur Gustave Flaubert, because he is more GENERAL and therefore more typical. Nevertheless, there are days when I consider myself below imbecility. I have still a globe of goldfish and that amuses me.
"Is that the only thing. Could you do other things besides that?" "Lord, yes!" said Mr. Fotheringay. "Just anything." He thought, and suddenly recalled a conjuring entertainment he had seen. "Here!" he pointed, "change into a bowl of fish no, not that change into a glass bowl full of water with goldfish swimming in it. That's better! You see that, Mr. Maydig?" "It's astonishing. It's incredible.
The goldfish were carried in a separate tank which the ring-master had provided for them, and Joe, having seen that they were fed, had them turned into the big glass box in which he was soon to go through his act.
But my office stays as I wish it and you can't rush in any globes of goldfish and inkstands composed of reclining young females with their little hands forming the ink cup, while a single spray of cherry blossoms flourishes over the hook I hang my hat and coat upon. Oh, no, trot back to your boudoirs and purr your prettiest, but stop trying to tackle real men."
Someone was fitting more hangings in the den, and a woman was disputing with her co-worker as to the best place for the goldfish globe and the co-worker was telling her that Monster's house was to occupy the room yes, Monster, the O'Valley dog a pound and a half, he weighed, and was subject to pneumonia.
There was an old mill-house near Vlamertinghe, beyond Goldfish Chateau, which was made into a casualty clearing station, and scores of times when I passed it I saw it crowded with the "walking wounded," who had trudged down from the fighting-line, taking eleven hours, fourteen hours sometimes, to get so far.
Paul returned blind-drunk because he no longer wished to see. It was the same thing all over again. But his brain seemed in its own way to go on searching for a solution, and one day he asked the lawyer: "What do you call those square glass jars for keeping small fish in goldfish?" "Do you mean an aquarium?" "That's it," said Paul. "Are they dear?" "I don't know. Why?"
"Jump on my back, Uncle Wiggily!" cried the fish, and the rabbit did so, in the twinkling of an eye. And before the alligator could grab Uncle Wiggily, the goldfish swam to shore with him, and he was safe. And the alligator got some soap in his eye, from washing his face too hard, and went sloshing away as mad as could be, but it served him right.
The hapless Baron could stand it no longer. Crying, “No, no, it is false!” he sprang out of bed, arrayed in a tweed suit only half concealed by his night-shirt, and, forgetting all about the bath, descended with a great splash among the startled goldfish. The Countess paused in the half-opened door and looked at him with horror that rapidly passed into intense indignation.
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