E. Wood, I forget nothing. It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present.
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