Then they both scudded to the kitchen, where they installed themselves at the table in an empty space between the dishcloths, which were spread out to dry, and the bowl still full of dishwater.
"We said it was three hundred and forty.

It's your turn." "I play hearts." When Zoe returned she found them once again absorbed.

After a silence, as Mme Lerat was shuffling, Mme Maloir asked who it was.
"Oh, nobody to speak of," replied the servant carelessly; "a slip of a lad! I wanted to send him away again, but he's such a pretty boy with never a hair on his chin and blue eyes and a girl's face! So I told him to wait after all.

He's got an enormous bouquet in his hand, which he never once consented to put down.

One would like to catch him one--a brat like that who ought to be at school still!" Mme Lerat went to fetch a water bottle to mix herself some brandy and water, the lumps of sugar having rendered her thirsty.