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Updated: May 29, 2025
It is imperative, if you wish to write with any power and freshness at all, that you should utterly ruin your digestion. Any literary person will confirm this statement. At any cost the thing must be done, even if you have to live on German sausage, onions, and cheese to do it. So long as you turn all your dietary to flesh and blood you will get no literature out of it.
From others a movement to rise, as if the summons had come to them, but Mrs. Pryor waved them back. "I don't think it is anything serious," she said, bluntly. "I can't even go to a meeting in peace. Lizzie Bettie is so excitable. Mr. Pryor has been having attacks of indigestion for months. He ate sausage this morning for breakfast. He knows he can't eat sausage."
In November there were busy slaughter days, with salting of meats, sausage making, baking of blood pudding, and candle steeping. The seamstress who used to make up their homespun dresses had to come at this time, of course, and those were always two pleasant weeks when the women folk sat together and busied themselves with sewing.
This in itself was a proposal sufficiently startling, and he would not have been surprised at a violent instinctive protest from Darius; but Darius seemed not to heed. Then both Edwin and Maggie noticed that he was trying to hold a sausage firm on his plate with his knife, and to cut it with his fork. "No, no, father!" said Maggie gently. "Not like that!"
But the poor woman was shot walking by Morpheus, and subsided altogether; for dramatic performances, amusing and exciting to youth seated in the pit, convey a certain weariness to those bright beings who sparkle on the stage for bread and cheese. Royalty, disposed of, still left its trail of events. The sausage began to "spit."
Then, putting on men's clothes and looking like an old tramp, she struck a bargain with a Sardinian fisherman who carried her and her dog to the other side of the straits. In a bag she had a large piece of sausage. Semillante had had nothing to eat for two days. The old woman kept letting her smell the food and whetting her appetite. They got to Longosardo. The Corsican woman walked with a limp.
It lay a hundred or more feet beyond the dangling body and as they neared it it lost its sentinel-station aspect altogether. "Well what do you know about that?" said Archer. "It's an observation balloon, I'll bet," said Tom. "A Boche sausage! Look for another man before you do anything else there's always two. If he's around anywhere we might get into trouble yet."
"And entertain our friends?" "Yes, my love, with crumpets and tea." "Don't forget muffins and bloater paste, and German sausage and occasional legs of mutton, you ungrateful man!" "I don't forget 'em, Mariar. My recollection of 'em is powerful; I may even say vivid." "Well," continued the lady, "haven't you been able to lend small sums on several occasions to friends "
In the early morning of that date they boarded a train for Montreal, where they arrived past midnight and were marched aboard the Burmah, a British transport of seven thousand tons burden. At two a. m. they were given a meal of tea, bread, condensed milk, boiled potatoes and a most horrible sausage and told to turn in. As their bunks were hold hamocks, quite a few turned out.
One was to fry it in quantity, pack the cakes as fried in crocks, pour over them the gravy, and when the jar was almost full, cover the top an inch deep with melted lard. Kept cool and dark the cakes came out as good as they went in. Still there were palates that craved smoked sausage.
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