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Updated: May 25, 2025
"If I had expected any one would share my meal, I would have provided a better one. Still, I have been glad to feast upon more unappetizing things occasionally." "When were you unfortunate?" said the girl. Winston smiled somewhat dryly. "I was unfortunate for six years on end." He was aware of the blunder when he had spoken, but Maud Barrington appeared to be looking at the flask thoughtfully.
How poorly the food was cooked, how unappetizing was the serving! When the maid had removed the dishes, Barbara continued her reverie, and even her father had never gazed into vacancy with such gloomy earnestness. What would she now have given for a mother, a reliable, faithful confidante!
She nearly always ended the days conscious of a ridiculous desire to cry at everything. Because the buses were crowded, because the supper was greasy and unappetizing, or because Fanny was not at home to welcome her. There was one afternoon in particular, on a hot, airless day in June, when Joan reached the last point of her endurance. Everything had combined to make the office unendurable.
No. Does Sally Clark appreciate her husband? No. And there don't none of us do it till he's gone gone gone!" As soon as possible Huldah went home. She was not a little disconcerted. The "gone gone gone" rang unpleasantly in her ears, and before her eyes rose a hateful vision of unappetizing fried eggs and boiled potatoes.
"Help yourself to bacon, which is on the hot case near the fire, and come here for your tea or coffee. By the way, which do you like?" Joan asked for tea, and having secured her cup and a small piece of unappetizing bacon, she found her way over to the indicated table.
"Could you eat an egg?" Huldah stared blankly at her hostess. She could not at first realise that the question was meant for her. "An egg! Me! Oh, yes, ma'am, but I don't want anything so so good as that." She could have eaten anything, no matter how plain, or poor, or unappetizing. But an egg! One of the greatest luxuries she had ever tasted. "A bit of dry bread will be plenty good enough.
Over all came a thick, rich crust, with a cross-cut in the middle, and corners turned deftly back. When the crust was brown the pie was done. No doubt we were foolish but somehow the regular "cases" made our sausages unappetizing if we put it into them for keeping.
"How do you like the boarding-house by this time?" she asked, with an encouraging smile, to which I responded as approvingly as I could in the remembrance of the cheerless hall bedroom far above, and in the presence of the unappetizing dinner spread before me.
Presently he considered that she was slightly flushed. Shortly after the evening meal of singularly unappetizing Darian rations, she drank thirstily. He did not comment. He brought out cards and showed her a complicated game of solitaire in which mental arithmetic and expert use of probability increased one's chance of winning. By midnight she'd learned the game and played it absorbedly.
It was an instinct, blind in the manner of instincts, of her dependent womanhood. She was quite sure that something must happen, a something that would give her a horizon more spacious than that of the West Side. Meantime she ate the unappetizing food put before her with good grace, and smiled and chatted with all the dreary spinsters of the boarding-house table.
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