They all began to twirl and were ever so gradually sucked into a painting. "Where are we?" yelled Lapinette. She hung in the air being eyed up by a well-dressed gentleman who should have known better. "It's when are we? About 1920 something!" shouted the Wabbit. He looked down at himself. "I'm only half in!" he yelled. A woman looked down at him. "I don't like rabbits," she stated. She was a sniffy sort and she pushed him from the painting. "We have all the fur we need and it's certainly not rabbit." But the gentleman with a rose in his lapel was more than happy. "Now you're a pretty little thing," he said to Lapinette, "What's your name?" Lapinette was almost at a loss for words but recovered quickly. "Trixie Beaujolais at your service," she simpered. Sebby made a bee line for the other gentleman. "Good Sir. You require a nice hat," he quipped. "Be off with you, rough Garibaldini," retorted the gentleman. "Perhaps you'd prefer a rose," said Lapinette. As sweet and sticky as honey, her voice trickled down on the fur. His eyes gleamed and he stretched out a hand. He was stuck to the rose and dangerously close to the fur. "Now's our chance," said the Wabbit. He unstuck himself and pulled his friends from the painting. They gazed for a second. Everyone in the painting was stuck to each other. Then the Wabbit, Lapinette and Sebby each felt a tug and a push. The Wabbit exclaimed, "Oh no, it's happening again..."
