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Updated: May 4, 2025
Miou-Matou, who had acquired that title among the joyeux for his scientific powers of making a tomcat into a stew so divine that you could not tell it from rabbit, being laid up with a ball in his hip, a spear-head between his shoulders, a rib or so broken, and one or two other little trifling casualties.
Besides, I told Miou-Matou just now, if my children do as I tell them, they will not take a leaf or a peach-stone from this grande dame how does she call herself? Mme. Corona d'Amague!" Cecil looked up quickly: "Why not?" Cigarette flashed on him her brilliant, brown eyes with a fire that amazed him. "Because we are soldiers, not paupers!" "Surely; but "
If I were you, I would not touch a glass, nor eat a fig; you will not, if you have the spirit of a rabbit. You! Fed like dogs with the leavings of her table pardieu! That is not for soldiers of France!" "What dost thou say?" growled Miou-Matou, peering up under his gray, shaggy brows. "Only that a grande dame has sent you champagne. That is all. Sapristi!
Miou-Matou, who looked very like an old grizzly bear, laughed in the depths of his great, hairy chest. "Dream of glory, and end on a grabat! Just so, just so.
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