1 Mr. Pontellier had forgotten the bonbons and peanuts for the boys.
2 Then she went in and assisted the quadroon in getting the boys to bed.
3 The little Pontellier boys were permitting them to do so, and making their authority felt.
4 The boys were tumbling about, clinging to his legs, imploring that numerous things be brought back to them.
5 She draped it across the boy in graceful folds, and in a way to conceal his black, conventional evening dress.
6 His wife stood smiling and waving, the boys shouting, as he disappeared in the old rockaway down the sandy road.
7 The boys were dragging along the banquette a small "express wagon," which they had filled with blocks and sticks.
8 A light-colored mulatto boy, in dress coat and bearing a diminutive silver tray for the reception of cards, admitted them.
9 The boy retired and returned after a moment, bringing the tiny silver tray, which was covered with ladies' visiting cards.
10 Mr. Pontellier, who was observant about such things, noticed it, as he served the soup and handed it to the boy in waiting.
11 The youngest boy, Etienne, had been very naughty, Madame Ratignolle said, as she delivered him into the hands of his mother.
12 After finishing her dinner she went to her room, having instructed the boy to tell any other callers that she was indisposed.
13 The boy grew more daring, and Mrs. Pontellier might have found herself, in a little while, listening to a highly colored story but for the timely appearance of Madame Lebrun.
14 The boys were being put to bed; the patter of their bare, escaping feet could be heard occasionally, as well as the pursuing voice of the quadroon, lifted in mild protest and entreaty.
15 Old Celestine, with a bandana tignon twisted about her head, hobbled in and out, taking a personal interest in everything; and she lingered occasionally to talk patois with Robert, whom she had known as a boy.
16 With ingenuous frankness he spoke of what a wicked, ill-disciplined boy he had been, and impulsively drew up his cuff to exhibit upon his wrist the scar from a saber cut which he had received in a duel outside of Paris when he was nineteen.
17 If one of the little Pontellier boys took a tumble whilst at play, he was not apt to rush crying to his mother's arms for comfort; he would more likely pick himself up, wipe the water out of his eyes and the sand out of his mouth, and go on playing.
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