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Updated: May 7, 2025
"Let's stop for Dad, it's going to pour. And let's go up to your house to eat?" Silence. "We can play duets all evening!" Alix added, temptingly. "Little and Anne coming back?" Peter asked, unwillingly. "No; they're dining with the Quelquechoses those bright-faced, freckled cousins of his," Alix answered. "I don't know that I've got anything up there to eat!" Peter said, gloomily. "Ooo say!"
"Come," said Hugh, one day when he had sought and found her in Mrs. Renney's precincts "come away, Fleda! What do you want to stand here and see Mrs. Renney roll butter and sugar for?" "My dear Mr. Rossitur," said Fleda, "you don't understand quelquechoses. How do you know but I may have to get my living by making them, some day?" "By making what?" said Hugh.
"Quelquechoses, anglice, kickshaws, alias, sweet trifles denominated merrings." "Pshaw, Fleda!" "Miss Fleda is more likely to get her living by eating them, Mr. Hugh, isn't she?" said the housekeeper. "I hope to decline both lines of life," said Fleda laughingly as she followed Hugh out of the room. But her chance remark had grazed the truth sufficiently near.
"Quelquechoses Anglice, kickshaws alias, sweet trifles, denominated merrings." "Pshaw, Fleda!" "Miss. Fleda is more likely to get her living by eating them, Mr. Hugh, isn't she?" said the housekeeper. "I hope to decline both lines of life," said Fleda, laughingly, as she followed Hugh out of the room. But her chance remark had grazed the truth sufficiently near.
This was only the first service; and two others followed, consisting of a fawn, with a pudding inside it, a grand salad, hot olive pies, baked neats' tongues, fried calves' tongues, baked Italian puddings, a farced leg of lamb in the French fashion, orangeado pie, buttered crabs, anchovies, and a plentiful supply of little made dishes, and quelquechoses, scattered over the table.
"Come," said Hugh one day when he had sought and found her in Mrs. Renney's precincts, "come away, Fleda! What do you want to stand here and see Mrs. Renney roll butter and sugar for?" "My dear Mr. Rossitur!" said Fleda, "you don't understand quelquechoses. How do you know but I may have to get my living by making them, some day." "By making what?" said Hugh.
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