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His customers came from Fecamp and Montvilliers, just for the fun of seeing him and hearing him talk; for fat Toine would have made a tombstone laugh. He had a way of chaffing people without offending them, or of winking to express what he didn't say, of slapping his thighs when he was merry in such a way as to make you hold your sides, laughing. And then, merely to see him drink was a curiosity.
"It's to be hoped so!" answered the old woman crossly, haunted by fear of failure. They waited. Friends of Toine who had got wind that his time was drawing near arrived, and filled the little room. Nothing else was talked about in the neighboring cottages. Inquirers asked one another for news as they stood at their doors. About three o'clock Toine fell asleep. He slumbered half his time nowadays.
And the customers, doubled up with laughter, would thump the table with their fists and stamp their feet on the floor. The old woman, mad with rage, would repeat: "Wait a bit! Wait a bit! You'll see what'll happen. He'll burst like a sack of grain!" And off she would go, amid the jeers and laughter of the drinkers. Toine was, in fact, an astonishing sight, he was so fat, so heavy, so red.
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