‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. Then, though full of confidence, he half doubted his power of accomplishing his designs. Playing became a way of escape. Dolby smiled. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber.
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