’ ‘Aye, more’s the pity. ” There was a moment’s silence. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. " "Well, imagination beats me!" "It's something Ruth saw.
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