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They sew for the poor; they don't sew so very much, you know; but then they have a tremendous lunch afterwards. I sewed for the poor the other day, because one of the sewing circles asked me to their meeting. I sewed two buttons on to the end of something, and then I ate six kinds of salad, and went to drive with Mr. Vancouver.
Presently Yvonne, the French maid, entered the room. "Mademoiselle recovers, monsieur," she said, with a smile. "Also she dines here, and monsieur with her. It is all arranged. "If you please," said I. It seemed about the best thing to say. Very swiftly she laid the table for two a cold chicken, some salad, rolls, and a bottle of champagne. Thank you. "It is not much," said Yvonne apologetically.
There was disorder, it is true; but, on the other hand, there was no polished tea-caddy to stare at him and claim equal rights against him, defying him to disturb it. He was asked to sit upon the sofa, and in so doing upset the plateful of salad upon the floor. Pauline smiled, was down upon her knees in an instant, before he could prevent her, picked up the vegetables and put them back again.
Lewis did not say anything further. Elma bent down, touched her parent on her brow with the lightest possible caress, and then stepped on tiptoe out of the room. "Poor mother!" she muttered. "It is surprising the kind of things that comfort one; she is soothed at the thought of crab for supper with salad.
They want something to cool their dainty palates, but men, sir, and soldiers What's this, Bella, Bellisima? Salad French dressing and cool, too! Bravissima, my dear! How did you manage it? The olla? Why, of course! Cool anything. Cool my old head, if need be. Hey, Willett?"
If she comes you'll have to appoint a tasting committee before I'll touch a drop of punch or eat a speck of salad." "We might recommend the appointment of Raleigh to look after the fair Lucretia and see that she has no poison with her, or if she has, to keep her from dropping it into the salads," said Confucius, with a sidelong glance at Raleigh.
The Master Man was so stirred by half-contemptuous humour at the sycophancy and snobbery of his vain slave, who could make a salad out of anything edible, that, caring little what men were, so long as they did his work for him, he once wrote a cheque for two thousand pounds on the starched cuff of his henchman's "biled shirt" at a dinner prepared for his birthday.
They never had any at home. She slipped out the fork, sampled the salad, and one-quarter of pear. Then she closed the box and started down the road nibbling one of the pickles and trying to decide exactly how happy she was, but she could find no standard high enough for a measure. She was to go to the Bird Woman's after school for the last load from the case.
But we had to live for each other in those days, for every one was against us. I painted, and she kept house that English blood is always practical in a desert. And it was a desert. The cooking it would have made a billiard ball's hair stand on end with astonishment. She made the salad, and then evolved the roast from the inner consciousness. I painted a chaudfroid on an old plate.
Hanging from the rafters, moreover, were some provisions, a salad basket full of eggs, and several bunches of big pink onions. "And, from what I see," resumed Pierre, with a slight shudder, "you have thought that you might make use of the room?" The curate was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Of course, that's it," said he. "What can one do? The house is so small, I have so little space.
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