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Updated: May 20, 2025
"There you go again, saying things in a sort of half-cooked way, and leaving the rest to a fellow's wild imagination. Do you mean you believe they'd really hurt us, when we ain't so much as lifted a finger to do the bunch any harm? Speak out and tell us, now, you old croaker." "Thad, what do you think they might do?"
There was the same absence of punkah, the same glaring light, and succession of half-cooked clammy dishes. There were only a few diners, apparently mostly residents of the place who boarded at the hotel. These gentlemen had put on black coats, and made a kind of toilet for the evening meal.
Seating themselves cross-legged on the ground, the half-cooked meat was taken in their hands, and, with no other utensils than his hunting knife, each made his morning meal. And so at last Jack Carleton was a captive among a tribe of Indians whose totem was unknown to him.
And the night wears on. The morning opens cheerless. The sky is still leaking, and so is the shanty. The guides bring in a half-cooked breakfast. The roof is patched up. There are reviving signs of breaking away, delusive signs that create momentary exhilaration. Even if the storm clears, the woods are soaked. There is no chance of stirring. The world is only ten feet square.
The very thought of the half-cooked food sickened him nauseated him. Motionless there in the dark he dragged one big hand across his dry lips and slowly shook his head. "They didn't want me," he muttered hoarsely. "It wasn't because they forgot me before; they didn't want me not even for the strength of my shoulders."
The man took a small stone jar from a shelf and putting in a little water, took the half-cooked quail from the fire, and putting it in the jar set it on the coals among the ashes, and covered it.
You are cantankerous enough to forget that he used his position in London to do us harm, and you won't see that he will do as much with the justiceship. Let these things pass. If you were a good Catholic one might excuse your devotion to Livingstone on the score that you were eager to return good for evil. But you're a half-cooked Catholic, John. Let that pass too. Have you no manhood left in you?
The children's stomachs are abnormally large; due, perhaps, to the half-cooked rice and other poorly prepared food. When it comes to the choice of caring for the child or the fighting cock, the cock has the preference. The bird is carried as fondly and as carefully as if it were a superior creature.
Two ancient crones, pottering about a mud stove in an open-work reed kitchen through which the mountain wind swept chillingly, half-cooked an enormous slab of veal, boiled a pot of the ubiquitous black coffee, and scraped together a bit of stale bread, or more exactly cake, for pan dulce was the only species that the town afforded.
I sat in the chimney-corner and kept stirring the porridge while the Hags dozed before the fire. First, I got a dish and ladle and took out of the pot some half-cooked porridge. This I left one side. Then I took down the salt-box that was on the chimney-shelf and mixed handfuls of salt in the porridge left in the pot.
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