"You," she said in heavy, theatrical tones, "are destined to live a long and happy life. It is written in your hand."
Toffee looked on these proceedings with high disapproval. "You quit holding his hand, you old moll," she put in heatedly, "or your life won't be worth living."
The woman looked up in alarm. "Alright, dearie," she said, dropping Marc's hand. "No harm done." She tottered briskly away from the table.
Not to be deterred by this interruption, Marc leveled his finger back at George's nose. "Now, listen, you ..." he began. But there he stopped.
A strange expression had come into George's face and he was beginning to look a little ill. He glanced uneasily around the room, then swallowed ... hard. For a moment he looked like he was going to speak, but all of a sudden there was a sharp popping sound, like a blown fuse, and he instantly vanished. In the same moment, the jug beside his chair began to tremble violently, then, astonishingly, leaped about a foot into the air, as though seized with a fit of anger. It lingered there, undecidedly suspended for a moment, then suddenly crashed to the floor, sending shattered crockery and liquid fanning out in a messy arc. Marc and Toffee stared at the wreckage as the little white-haired lady, who had found George's feet so fascinating, suddenly started from her chair.
"I can't stand it another minute!" she whimpered. "I must see! I must!" And whirling around to face Marc she stared at him wretchedly for an intensely silent moment. Then, with a quick movement, she reached quickly down beneath the table and started tugging at the legs of his trousers.
Marc was instantly on his feet. "Lady!" he yelped in surprise. "What a thing to do! Let go of my pants!"
"Yes," Toffee put in excitedly, rising from her chair. "You should have given up ideas like that long ago!"
The little woman hesitated in her activities, seeming to realize for the first time what she was doing. And, clearly, it shocked her even more than Marc or Toffee. With an agonized upward glance at Marc, she made an unintelligible sound, turned chalk white and slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
At this point the situation might have straightened itself out. It might have, that is, if the woman had only thought to release her hold on Marc's trouser legs. But she hadn't. Falling back, she dragged Marc's balance after her. Clawing the air in a sort of breast stroke, Marc crashed to the floor, and sprawled out full length.