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Updated: May 21, 2025
Formez vos bataillons!" Around the room they marched singing, "Marchons! Marchons!" with all their might, while Fallowby with very bad grace, hammered on the table, consoling himself a little with the hope that the exercise would increase his appetite. Hercules, the black and tan, fled under the bed, from which retreat he yapped and whined until dragged out by Guernalec and placed in Odile's lap.
She smiled and murmured, "Oh, no!" but her hand dropped into his and tightened convulsively. "To the table!" shouted Fallowby, and uttered a joyous whoop. "Take it easy," observed Thorne, with a remnant of manners; "you are not the host, you know." Marie Guernalec, who had been chattering with Colette, jumped up and took Thorne's arm and Monsieur Guernalec drew Odile's arm through his.
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